Bodie 7

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Bodie. You sonofabitch, I’m on my way. You figure to take me down like you done for Dancer and Benedict. I’m guessing you took Tobe. Yeah? Well not Vince Cagle, you miserable son. I aim to blow holes in you big enough to show daylight. Then I’ll go pick up my gold and live high on the hog.’

  Bodie heard the words and heard the rattle and scrape of Cagle as he stepped up the rocks of Pinto Wells.

  He didn’t respond. Simply waited for Cagle to show himself. The man had worked himself into a frenzy that was making him lax. He was ignoring his own earlier caution in his eagerness to get to the man he held responsible for his life’s downturn.

  Bodie waited, letting Cagle come to him, and did nothing to dissuade him. He had no problem with allowing the other man to put himself willingly on the road to hell.

  Cagle reared into view on the level just below where Bodie stood. He stepped into the open, swinging his rifle back and forth as he looked for his target. Bodie saw him as a gray silhouette. A moving shadow. Only the metallic gleam of the rifle he carried showing clearly.

  ‘Bodie. Show yourself…’

  ‘I’m here,’ Bodie said and put a shot into Cagle’s side that pitched him forward. He let go of his rifle and it hit the rock and slid out of reach.

  Bodie’s slug had cored in deep and Cagle pulled himself upright and turned to face Bodie. His right hand pressed to the bloody wound in his side.

  ‘Oh, you bastard. That was a sneaky shot.’

  ‘You expect good manners? One question, Cagle, you going to tell me where the gold is?’

  ‘What do you think, bounty man?’

  There was the start of a grin on Cagle’s lips as he went for his holstered Colt. Confidence in his eyes because he still believed he was fast enough to buck Bodie’s rifle. His fingers had barely touched the butt when Bodie shot him, planting three more .44-40 lead slugs in him. Cagle uttered a stunned cry. He went back and stepped over the edge of the rock slope. His cry trailed off as he fell into the darkness, hitting the rocks below with a dull sound.

  ‘Now that’s got to be messy,’ Bodie said softly. ‘Be hell to wrap in a blanket.’

  Chapter Seventeen

  From his place beyond Pinto Wells Silverbuck had watched the Pinda Lickoyi called Bodie as he made ready his preparations to leave. After his kills he had brought together the horses his enemies had used and secured them. Before he rested he watered the animals, making sure they were settled before he took to his blanket and slept. It would have been easy then for Silverbuck to have reached the wells and killed Bodie while he did so. But that would have been too simple. And striking in the dark brought its own problems. Silverbuck stayed where he was, waiting for the dawn, so that the Pinda Lickoyi could see the face of his enemy when death found him.

  Silverbuck had his horse at his side, the reins looped around one ankle to warn him if the animal tried to wander, or was startled by something disturbing the quiet. He also kept his rifle in his hands, laid across the body, the weapon loaded and ready.

  First light touched his face and Silverbuck woke easily, shrugging his blanket from his shoulders as he eased himself into the day, stretching his cramped muscles. The arm Bodie had broken ached as it always did in the mornings so he flexed it until the nagging went away. He drank from his canteen, clearing his mouth, then offered water to his horse by filling a shallow rawhide dish from the pack on its back. He chewed on a strip of dry meat as he watched Bodie emerge from his own blanket and refresh himself in the cold water of the main tinaja of Pinto Wells. Silverbuck knew the deep tanks of the wells. Had tasted the fresh water that sprang from beneath the dark rocks himself. He saw the man hunter kneel and thrust his head beneath the surface, emerging to sluice his face and brush back his dark hair.

  Silverbuck crouched and watched Bodie strip the saddle and gear from one of the tethered horses. He wrapped the bodies of the dead men in blankets, securing them with lengths of rope cut from one of the saddle ropes. Then he hoisted each body over the back of the stripped horse and tied them in place. The horse fidgeted when the bodies were first draped in place but Bodie spoke to it, soothing it and the animal settled down. Bodie drained both canteens he took from the horses and filled them with fresh water from the main tank. Even though he had most likely seen to the weapons he had gained, Bodie checked them all again. Satisfied he took the time to insect each horse, making sure they were ready for travel. Only then did he swing into the saddle of the horse he had chosen to ride and moved off, leading the second horse close behind.

  ~*~

  Once Bodie had cleared Pinto Wells Silverbuck moved himself. He had no need to hurry. Bodie would be moving at a steady pace, letting his horse pick its own pace as the heat of the new day increased. Silverbuck could find the man easily in the open desert.

  He rode down to Pinto Wells. Dismounted and led his horse to the welcome coolness of the tinajas where he let the animal drink. Silverbuck refreshed himself, then refilled his canteen with fresh water. He fed the horse with some of the grain he carried in a sack hung from his gear. Ate some dried meat himself.

  Only when he was satisfied did he move on from the wells, easily able to spot the trail Bodie had left behind.

  As Silverbuck rode on Pinto Wells was left empty and silent once again. Soon the desert breeze would drift the sand and cover the tracks and it would be as if no one had visited the place.

  ~*~

  As Bodie took his leave from Pinto Wells the only thought on his mind was one of relief. He had walked into the place knowing there were two men on his trail with little on their minds except pure killing. Which was nothing new given Bodie’s line of work. He took that as expected.

  He felt the first rays of the sun and tugged down the brim of the hat he’d found at the base of the rocks where Tobe Benedict had left it with his boots before his climb up onto Pinto Wells.

  On his return towards Yuma he found he was retracing his earlier trail though the tracks left from that journey had gone, wiped away by the windstorm of the previous day and the ever–present sloughing of the desert breeze. The feel of the hot sun, with the temperature rising quickly Bodie, forced him to ride slowly. Thought he had water now he still felt the after effects of his long walk. His lips were still dry, sore from the effects of his long trek and his face still showed the effects of the forced exposure. If he hadn’t known the location of Pinto Wells and eventually reached the water, matters might have been resolved differently.

  When he reached the general area where he had confronted Billy Dancer he checked around but couldn’t find any sign. Not that he had expected to. Dancer was still in the desert but he was hidden from view now. Drifting sand, ever on the move could have sifted over the body. Sometime in the future, moving wind would expose his bones and maybe someone would find them and wonder who the dead man was. Not today. Not now, and Bodie had little interest in the dead. Only the living concerned him.

  Right then he was the only one who mattered. The only one on the desert.

  So he thought.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Silverbuck rode his own trail. Close enough to keep Bodie in sight, yet able to remain unseen by using the desert terrain to provide cover. Hollows and ridges in the landscape allowed the breed to follow Bodie without himself being spotted. The rising heat of the day had little effect on him. Desert such as this was home to Silverbuck. He could see from the way Bodie rode, hunched over in his saddle, that the heat was affecting him. The Pinda Lickoyi was no beginner. He knew the harsh ways of the land and treated it accordingly. Had he not survived on foot, walking across the desert to reach the sanctuary of Pinto Wells? And had then defeated the two men who had forced him into the desert. It took a special kind of man to take on such odds and survive – especially for a Pinda Lickoyi .

  Urging his horse across a stretch of terrain where scrubby brush and scattered rocks lay, Silverbuck pulled back on his reins to walk around the area. It was in places like this that lizards and snakes hid themse
lves away from the harsh rays of the sun, choosing the cooler shadows on the vegetation. The breed’s momentary lapse had allowed his horse to step close to the fringes of the brush, its head lowering as it’s curiosity caused it to investigate the movement with the brush. The warning rattle came too late and though Silverbuck hauled the horse’s head around, there was little time to move his mount into the clear. Silverbuck caught a glimpse of the mottled skin. The sudden rapid movement of the rattlesnake, disturbed and hostile. It rose, extending its long body. The large head lunged forward, so fast it was a blur. It struck once, then again, sinking its curved fangs into the horse’s muzzle and injecting the glistening venom. The panicked horse reared back, uttering a frightened sound and Silverbuck was forced to haul in on the reins, gripping with his legs in an attempt to keep the horse under control. The animal’s exertions only succeeded in pushing the snake’s injected venom deeper into its system. Silverbuck felt it bucking and writhing beneath him. The horse was fully out of control now, kicking and rearing. Silverbuck knew what was going to happen and he cleared the saddle, snatching his rifle from the scabbard as he jumped aside. He saw the horse go down, its bulk landing hard. It lay on its side, flanks quivering, eyes rolling with fear as it struggled to breathe through rapidly swelling airways. The snake slithered away and Silverbuck watched it go with a disinterested eye. The snake had only been acting the way it was supposed to. It had sensed a threat, real or not, and had reacted instinctively.

  Silverbuck turned and made his way to the top of the ridge. He bellied down and peered across the sand. Bodie was not moving. He was sitting his saddle, checking around him, listening, and Silverbuck knew the man hunter had heard enough to alert him.

  This was not what Silverbuck had been expecting. He had wanted to be able to reach Bodie before the Pinda Lickoyi was aware. Now he would be on guard more than normally. Which would make Silverbuck’s strike harder.

  Behind him Silverbuck could hear the injured horse grunting, the sound growing more pronounced as the animal succumbed to the increasing restrictions of suffocation. The more it struggled the worse it became, the venom coursing through its system. He slid his heavy knife from its sheath and strode around the threshing horse. With expert strokes he cut into the animal’s neck, severing the main arteries. Hot blood flushed from the deep cuts and soaked into the parched ground and the horse’s struggles quieted down as it died..

  Silverbuck returned to observe Bodie. The Pinda Lickoyi was still there. Dismounted now and with his rifle in his hands as he looked about him.

  Crouched behind the ridge, the desert breeze drifting the sand in lazy swirls, Silverbuck studied his enemy.

  ‘I’m here, Stalker,’ Silverbuck said. ‘You look long enough and you will see me.’

  His voice came out as a harsh whisper, almost a hiss of sound that matched the gritty noise made by the dry sand in the desert wind.

  Silverbuck still held his knife, the blade wet with the blood of the dead horse. He thrust it into the sand to clean it, turning it back and forth.

  ‘The next blood on my blade will be yours, Pinda Lickoyi. And when I cut your throat I will not fail to kill you.’

  Chapter Nineteen

  ‘That was no drifting sand,’ Bodie murmured. ‘Or a heavy footed lizard.’

  He reined in his horse, the one Cagle had been riding, and took a long, slow look around. The ever present wind drift made it difficult to pinpoint the sound but Bodie had a feeling it had come from beyond the rim of the sloping sand hill that ran parallel to his line of travel. That lay on his left. To his right the desert landscape was pretty level. There definitely was nothing to see out there.

  Cagle’s bunch were all dead, so he wasn’t expecting any more hard cases to come barrelling over the rise. Bodie took off his hat and ran his sleeve across his brow, feeling the sweat that had formed. He snugged the hat back in place and took another slow look around. He wondered if maybe there were some of the Indian trackers in the area, still on the lookout for the escapees from Yuma. They hadn’t shown their faces up to now and something told him they wouldn’t be showing up. The prison warden had put out the order that Bodie was looking for Cagle and company and he wasn’t to be interfered with, so the trackers had concentrated on the surviving pair from the work party who were still at large. There hadn’t been any sign of them around the desert area. Knowing the trackers Bodie figured they would be staying in the country west and north where the terrain would be somewhat more hospitable for all concerned.

  So that left Bodie wondering who else might be around. He didn’t discount the possibility it might be hostile Apaches. Thought the general threat from renegades was greatly reduced now, with the numbers getting smaller, there were still some around. Fiercely against giving in to the greater number of Pinda Lickoyi, the defiant ones waged their war, resisting to the end. Scattered, dispossessed, they fought on. Hit and run strikes to steal and kill. They resorted to vicious murder raids, taking lives and possessions, then scattered into the desert lands and the mountains of Mexico. Like flitting shadows the Apaches risked all against the army, the lure of battle against their enemy, ignoring the superior numbers. For some death in battle, hopefully swift, was a better choice than submitting to captivity. A life of deprivation on some reservation was looked on as a slow way to die. Stripped of their homeland and made to exist on the whims of their overseers was something many Apaches had no time for. So they remained free to choose their own destiny. Yet in the end even the most determined were forced to surrender. That or die under the guns of the Pinda Lickoyi. For some it became the only way they could stay free.

  The thought was in Bodie’s mind as he eased from the saddle, rifle in his hands, and took a long look around. He concentrated on the ridge, still with the feeling the sound he had heard was more than imaginary.

  He began to be aware of the feeling he was being watched. Yet it was no more than a feeling. Maybe imagined because of where he was. The desert tended to create those sensations. Maybe nothing more than the mind playing tricks. Conjured up by the environment. The heat. The desert wind making its own voice heard. His own overriding weariness. Bodie moved around, still not sure what, if anything, he had heard – or imagined he had heard.

  Behind him the horses stirred restlessly. Bodie moved back, took a drink from one of the canteens. He felt eyes on him. The horses were watching him drink. They managed to make him feel guilty, so he tipped water into his hat and let each animal drink.

  ‘Just go easy,’ he said. ‘Since we left the wells behind, there ain’t no more for a distance.’

  The horses pushed against him, wanting more, but he ignored them.

  ‘Cut that out,’ he told them. ‘You get more when I decide when.’ He rehung the canteen, shaking his head. ‘Got me apologising to the horses now. I’ve been on this damned desert too long.

  Bodie put the rifle away, took a final look around and mounted up. He took hold of the reins of the horse carrying the bodies and moved off. Still not fully satisfied, but accepting there wasn’t much to be gained chasing after a sound that could have been nothing more than the wind stirring the sand and brush. If it had been anything more, charging up that rise he might have walked into a waiting gun. He had made his choice and he would have to live with it.

  Or die from a bullet in the back.

  For some reason that made him smile. He had no idea why. Maybe it was the way things had been happening over the last few days. Not exactly how he would have chosen, but up to now he had managed to stay alive and on his own two feet.

  ~*~

  Silverbuck moved at a steady lope, far enough behind Bodie not to be seen, yet still able to track the man. He maintained his cover. Having seen the way Bodie acted Silverbuck knew the man was suspicious. Not enough to make him nervous, but a strong enough feeling to cause him to increase his wariness.

  The breed moved easily, unhampered by the few possessions he carried. His weapons and ammunition pouch and the canteen he had fr
eed from his horse. It was enough. For a man of Apache blood it was more than enough.

  What else did he need in order to kill Bodie?

  Even as he tracked the lone Pinda Lickoyi his warrior’s mind was thinking ahead. To the moment when he finally confronted Bodie. He had realised that he wanted not only to have a face-to-face with Bodie, but he wanted – needed – to kill him with the cold steel of his knife. With the same type of weapon Bodie had tried to kill him with. Silverbuck would put aside his pistol and even his cut-down rifle. When he ended Bodie’s life it would be with the naked steel of Silverbuck’s razor edged knife. Killing Bodie that way would be justified in Silverbuck’s mind. He wanted the man to feel the blade severing the flesh of his throat, spilling his blood the way Silverbuck’s blood had run from his own throat. Only this time there would be no mistake. Bodie would die with his flesh cut open, staring into Silverbuck’s eyes.

  Bodie had his time coming. It would be Silverbuck’s victory. He would see the Pinda Lickoyi die and leave his body to the Zopilote. When the vultures had done feeding on his flesh, Bodie’s bones would be left to bleach under the desert sun.

  Chapter Twenty

  Close on midday. The sun at its height. The heat getting to be overpowering. Even the sand underfoot was becoming hot. The ever-present desert breeze added to the stifling heat. Movement increased the effect and from his position on a sweeping curve of a sand hill Silverbuck saw the sluggish way Bodie leaned in his saddle. This was the time. When the man was at his lowest point.

  Time for the kill.

  Silverbuck was moving level with Bodie. Above him. Out of sight. He stripped off his shirt, took a final drink from his canteen. Then he laid the canteen on the sand, his rifle following and then his ammunition pouch. Now he had only his holstered Colt and his sheathed knife.