by Neil Hunter
This would all resolve itself once the storm blew itself out, so there was little need to hurry to catch up. With these thoughts Silverbuck remained within his refuge, the fury of the storm blowing around him and tended to his weapons, his horse close by, the both of them protected by the deep fissure in the rocks. While he waited he considered the way things were.
The Pinda Lickoyi man hunter, Bodie, would use the storm to escape from his pursuers. He knew the land and Silverbuck saw that the man would make for the tinajas at Pinto Wells that lay to the west. The three men chasing him might also know of the place and they would follow. If the fates allowed they would all converge on the rock pans and that would be the place they would try to kill Bodie.
That would also allow Silverbuck his moment of vengeance. It was an inevitability that Pinto Wells would become the final battleground when he came upon the place.
Silverbuck completed his cleaning of his weapons. Using a slightly oiled cloth from his ammunition pouch he carefully cleaned the Colt revolver, taking out the big .45 caliber bullets and wiping them, then did the same with the six chambers and mechanism, making sure everything was clean. He checked the action and when he was satisfied he reloaded the revolver and placed it back in the holster around his waist. He carried out the same procedure with the Winchester rifle. The adapted weapon could be hung across his back by the plaited rawhide sling and brought quickly into play. The barrel and stock had been cut down to create a short-range, but effective weapon. Silverbuck preferred close up situations rather than killing from long distance, so the reduced range of the Winchester suited his needs. The ammunition he used, for both pistol and rifle, had been marked by deep cross-cuts in the soft lead slugs. On impact the deformed slugs would spread and create deep, ugly wounds. A way to determine any hits Silverbuck made would increase the stopping power. It was a sure way to make certain his victims were less likely to walk away from an encounter. Silverbuck’s armament was completed by the broad bladed, razor-edged knife he carried. The original knife he had owned now belonged to Bodie. He had used it on Silverbuck, slicing open the breed’s own throat and leaving him for dead. Silverbuck had sought out and replaced the knife with another, identical weapon. Holding it in his hand Silverbuck was determined to pay back Bodie in kind and make sure that he was successful when he cut open the Pinda Lickoyi’s throat…
Silverbuck sat back, satisfied he had everything ready. He unconsciously reached up a hand to stroke the ridged scar that stretched across his throat.
You can run, Bodie, but you cannot hide from me now I have found you. My time is coming and I will kill you. And even if the Pinda Lickoyi who follow kill you first I will make you alive again so you will die at my hand.
Silverbuck, who had been Massai, made that vow and offered it to Ussen, the God of the Apache.
Now it was written. And any promise made to Ussen could not be broken.
~*~
‘I know where that son is heading,’ Cagle said. ‘The tinajas west of here. Only just come to me. Pinto Wells. That’s where he’s going.’
‘How the hell do you work that out?’ Dancer said. He was still in a lot of pain, weak, but determined to sit his saddle when they moved on. ‘There’s a whole lot of country out there to choose from for Christ sake.’
‘Figure it out, Billy,’ Cagle said. ‘The man’s on foot. No water since you put a slug through his canteen. And you said you caught him with one of your shots. So the feller isn’t in the best position to go wandering too far into the desert.’
‘No other place he can go,’ Benedict agreed. ‘He’ll need water. Badly. In this heat he’s going to have a mouth drier than a witch’s tit. He don’t get water all we’ll find is his body shriveled up and baked to a crisp. I got no likin’ for the man, but he knows the country and if I’m guessing right he’ll know all the watering holes around. And Pinto Wells is closest.’
‘Tobe’s right,’ Cagle said. ‘Call Bodie what you will but he’s no man’s fool. If anyone can walk through this desert and come out the other side it’s Bodie.’
‘Jesus, listening to you pair it’s like you fell in love with the hombre.’
‘I think you’re set agin’ him ’cause he put a bullet in you,’ Benedict said, a thin smile edging his mouth.
‘And you’d be damned right,’ Dancer said.
They were sitting out the heart of the storm, sheltering in the gully, backs to the clouds of gritty sand and dust, horses pulled in close. Each man had his blanket pulled around his head and shoulders to keep out the gritty dust that filtered down. As eager as they were to pick up the chase none of them even considered venturing out while the storm raged. There would be time enough to start out once it abated. If they had learned one lesson while in Yuma prison it was patience. The ability to accept the moment and wait. Being in the cells behind those grim walls had made them more than aware that raging against the inevitable was a negative pursuit. As willful as banging their heads against the stone enclosures. Better to stay heads down and let things roll by. When the storm moved on, as it eventually would, then they could fork their saddles and move out.
Bodie was on foot. Hampered by the same storm that was holding them back, he would not have covered much ground, and it stood to reason they would be able to close the distance much faster once they were able to ride again.
Even Billy Dancer saw the sense in waiting, thought it grated. He wanted his chance against Bodie. The opportunity to empty his gun in the man hunter. That was going to be something he would enjoy because he really owed the man big time. Squatting against the slope of the gully, hunched over in his blanket, listening to the howl of the storm and feeling the gritty sand slapping against him, Dancer envisaged killing Bodie. He still felt weak and sick, his shoulder giving him constant pain, but Dancer let his imagination run free. Billy Dancer harbored grudges. Never let a personal slight be forgotten. He allowed them to fester and become dark, ugly things that skittered around the corners of his mind until they burst free in bouts of reckless violence. And what Bodie had done was still fresh enough in Dancer’s mind to keep him keyed up and able to sit out the pain in his shoulder. He pulled his blanket closer around him, blocking out the light and brooded in silence while he waited…
Chapter Ten
Determined as he was to reach Pinto Wells, Bodie quickly realized he was going to have to ease up. The sheer force of the sandstorm he was walking into made movement difficult. Physical strength was not enough to counter the buffeting and Bodie was pushed to his knees on a number of occasions. He fought to gain his feet again each time, aware that even his power to resist was being sorely tested. Time became an abstract thing. He had no notion how long he’d been walking, leaning into the wind, attempting to keep the dust and sand from overwhelming him.
Bodie stumbled and fell again. Felt the sheer power of the wind push him sideways until he was driven against something hard and unyielding. It took him moments to realize he was jammed against a jutting rock formation and as he felt around it he located a number of boulders rising from the desert’s surface. Accepting he wasn’t going to gain much headway until the full force of the storm eased off Bodie worked his way into the shelter provided by the rocks. As he eased himself into the gap he felt the pressure of the storm becoming reduced. The rocks were diverting it, giving him some degree of protection. Bodie took the opportunity to use the cover. He brushed at the sand in his hair. Cleared it from his face and eyes. There was little choice left to him now. Like it or not he was going to need to sit out the storm. Wait until he was able to move on freely.
He listened to the hissing rattle of sand against the sheltering rocks. The moan of the wind. And he thought about Pinto Wells and the cool, sweet water rippling over the smooth worn rock pans. A bad train of thought. It only made him realize how thirsty he was. His mouth and throat parched. The skin of his face and hands scoured by the wind driven sand.
Not the best day he’d ever had, Bodie decided, and it wasn’t p
romising to get any better. He’d lost his horse, his possessions and water supply. And caught a bullet wound in his arm – which was still offering him a nagging pain. All in all something of a loss.
Regardless of the downturn Bodie had no intention of quitting. The momentary lapse in resolve had come and gone. If there was any truth to be told Bodie was not a man to step away from any situation. He hadn’t built his reputation on walking away. Any of the men he’d gone after could affirm to that – if they survived and were still alive after he caught up to them. Doggedness was one of his qualities. A deserved accolade because Bodie never, ever, gave up.
Cagle and Benedict and Dancer might be the ones doing the chasing at the moment – but the situation would be turned around once Bodie found his place to make his stand.
And Pinto Wells was as good a place as any.
If the situation change before he reached the tinajas Bodie would handle that as well. He had learned a long time ago that in his profession being flexible was a handy attribute. Confrontations couldn’t always be stage-managed. People had the habit of doing the opposite to what was hoped for and expected.
Easing the Colt from under his shirt Bodie checked it over. He worked the hammer and spun the cylinder, making sure it was still running free. He found nothing to worry over. He kept his weapons in tip-top condition because he depended on them to work at any given moment without having to have concerns. While he did that he kept an ear open for the sound of the sandstorm, listening for any easing in its strength.
That didn’t happen for almost an hour.
Bodie picked up on the drop in pressure. The slackening of the depth of sound. He waited it out. Peering from behind his sheltering rocks he saw the blue sky showing through the storm haze and over the following half hour the wind dropped to a whisper, the choking swirl of sand fading. He slid out from behind the shelter of rock and stood, easing the stiffness from his body. Over his shoulder he saw the dust cloud moving away from him, leaving only the seemingly ever-present slight breeze that hung over the desert.
Checking the position of the still-high sun Bodie fixed his position for Pinto Wells. He was on track. Still a distance away but on track. The thought of the cool water in the rock pools gave him the strength to move out.
He hadn’t forgotten who was behind him. Knew that once the storm blew itself completely away they would be moving as well. He dropped the .45 caliber Peacemaker back into his holster. As Bodie strode out he shook off the remaining sand from his clothing. He still had to put up with the hot sun. Nothing he could do about that and he was well aware it would burn away at his reserves of stamina over the next few hours.
He also knew it would not stop him. Come hell or high water he was going to reach Pinto Wells and wait for Vince Cagle and his crew. When they did show up the tranquil peace of the watering hole was going to be well and truly disturbed.
~*~
Silverbuck rode out from his sanctuary as the storm slid away to the east. He led his horse out from cover, checked it over then mounted up. He rode slowly down in the direction of the gully where the three Pinda Lickoyi had waited out the storm. With the ease of the Apache he followed them, knowing they would never see him. They rode without skill, leaving a trail he could follow without even trying, so he could stay well back from them. Tracking them was easy. An Apache child could have followed them. They would lead him to Bodie and never know it. And when the dying time came Bodie would be there at Pinto Wells, the rocks at his back and a flaming gun in his hand.
It would be worth the watching. Seeing the three Americans die by Bodie’s hand, leaving the way open for Silverbuck to finish what he had come for. It was coming the way he wanted.
Silverbuck stroked his horse’s neck.
‘We will have our finish,’ he said. ‘Enjuh. Enjuh.’
Good. It is well.
And he gave his thanks to Ussen.
~*~
‘Godawful sand,’ Dancer complained. ‘I even got it up my butt.’
‘Yeah?’ Benedict said. ‘Now seein’ as you talk out of your ass most of the time, Billy, that ain’t no surprise.’
Benedict chuckled at his own joke. Dancer scowled at his back and for one wild moment dropped his hand to the butt of his holstered revolver.
‘Billy…,’ Cagle said softly, his horse alongside the younger man’s.
‘He shouldn’t say…’
‘You know Tobe. Allus likes to make his little joke. Don’t let him get to you, boy.’
Dancer sank down in his saddle, favoring his bandaged shoulder. His normally lean face looked haggard. He chanced a look at Cagle.
‘One day,’ he whispered. ‘It’ll come.’
‘Long as it ain’t today, Billy, ’cause we got better things to do. Just think on.’
They were moving slowly across the heat seared desert landscape. They didn’t push their mounts, knowing that would be fatal. As eager as they were to catch up with Bodie, pushing their horses too hard could leave them on foot as well.
In the far distance they could see the dark line of low mountain peaks shimmering through the heat waves. Behind them just the mark of their passing in the sand. Only occasionally did they see scant vegetation emerging from the desert. Scraps of hardy galletta grass. Some ironwood. The desert during its dry time, which was most of it, barely sustained plant life. Yet when it rained, even for a short time, the desert bloomed. Green plants. The odd flower. Then the desert took on a change.
For Cagle, Benedict and Dancer, there was little time to appreciate the state of the landscape. Only a few thoughts dominated their minds.
Finding Bodie.
Killing Bodie.
Then moving on to reclaim their hidden cache of stolen gold.
A simple enough plan.
Simple in thought, but executing it might not be so easy.
Both Cagle and Benedict, as good as they were, reminded themselves who they were going up against.
Bodie.
The Stalker.
A man hunter with a set of skills that set him apart from others of his kind. To disregard the man’s ability to survive would be a mistake. A fatal mistake. To face Bodie without regard his reputation was akin to walking in blind.
So Cagle and Benedict rode with those thoughts.
Billy Dancer, young, full of his own immortality, approached Pinto Wells with a different attitude. He saw his partners as men on the cusp. Hard, yes. Uncompromising in their way, but these days always tempered with too much caution. He saw them as starting to lose their edge. He rode with them because they had taught him a lot. Had passed along the knowledge gained from years on the trail. Even during their time in Yuma they had kept together. But Dancer found he was moving away from their way. He saw his time with them coming to a close. He had his life ahead and with his skill with his gun he saw good times ahead. Dancer wanted more than life on the move. Forever looking over his shoulder. Times were changing and Dancer wanted to go along with that change. Not spend the rest of his life on the dodge. With his share of the money he could step up in the world. Go places. Meet better people.
It was one of the main reasons why he stayed with Cagle. He needed the man to lead him to the hidden money. Cagle was the only one who knew where the cache was.
But first he needed to finish this thing with Bodie. Along with the others Dancer had lost three years of his life because of Bodie and he wouldn’t think of moving on until he had his face off with the man hunter. He knew all about Bodie and his reputation. It meant nothing to Billy Dancer. He was more than confident over his ability to take the man. Damn right Bodie was a tough hombre. Dancer was smarter. His speed with his gun unrivalled and with the undiminished confidence of youth Dancer would face down the man hunter and show him who was better.
The only drawback was the need to trail through the desert in order to get to Bodie. The trek was taking its toll on Dancer. He was still weak. He tried to conserve his energy though the discomfort brought on by the slow ri
de was doing little to help. Dancer had rested his left arm across his body, holding it firm. Even so every time his horse took a heavy step it caused fresh surges of pain in his shoulder. He needed a doctor but there wasn’t one in fifty miles. Maybe further. And making a visit to any town would only add to the chances of Dancer being recognized. Damned if he did – damned if he didn’t. Whichever course he took Billy Dancer was going to be faced with choices.
He unhooked his canteen, keeping the reins in his right hand, and took a slow swallow of warm water. He swilled out his mouth and spat, then took a further drink to ease his parched throat. It made him think of Bodie. Dancer had shot a hole in his canteen back at the gully. By now Bodie would be suffering. His throat and mouth so dry it had to hurt. That allowed Dancer a small degree of satisfaction. Anything that might make the man hunter suffer was fine as far as Dancer was concerned.
Just don’t let that suffering be too bad, he thought.
He didn’t want Bodie expiring before they got to him. Bodie’s death had to be up close and personal else it wouldn’t have the same degree of satisfaction. It had to be personal.
‘Horse’s need to rest,’ Benedict said.
Cagle nodded and they reined in. Coming down off their saddles they loosened the saddle girths. Upturning their hats they poured in water and let the horses wet their muzzles. When he saw Dancer struggling one-handed Benedict helped him out and Dancer offered a grudging murmur of thanks.
It was natural thing to look after the horses. No man with a lick of sense would force an animal to walk the desert without he looked out for it. If he didn’t and pushed his mount to the limit he might end up on foot himself. Men would curse and yell at their horses at times, but in rough country they treated them right – unless they were simple-minded to the point of recklessness.