Brand 3

by Neil Hunter

  Behind Jude, a rifle trained on his captive’s spine, was Lobo.

  He walked lightly, despite the wound in his left leg; Jude’s shot had torn a deep gash in his upper thigh. Though the bullet hadn’t lodged Lobo had lost a lot of blood before managing to hide himself away and tend the wound.

  Watching the pair Brand said: “Stand back, Liz, and for God’s sake don’t do anything stupid.”

  She threw him an angry glance. “You promised I could talk to him.”

  “You will. If he has a mind to listen. I need to know that first.”

  Lobo halted some yards off. He studied the scene before him, anger rising as he realized the man and girl had stayed the night in his cave, probably using his food. He recalled the effort it had taken bringing in all the supplies, and his rage grew, though nothing showed in his eyes or on his stone face.

  The prolonged silence proved too much for Jude. He was in pain from the struggle with Lobo when the half-breed had come on him in the darkness. Lobo’s single-minded ferocity had overcome even Jude’s brute strength. During the short confrontation Jude had been driven back over a rocky ledge. The fall had been bone-jarring, leaving Jude smashed and bleeding. Lobo had no trouble forcing the bounty hunter towards his hideout. Jude had lost much of his will to fight and Lobo’s endless questions about the girl and the man — plainly Brand — had been easier to answer than to lie about. Jude was already bitter over the fact that he was the captive of the very man he had come hunting himself. His discomfort was increased when they finally arrived at Lobo’s hideout to find Brand and the girl already there.

  “The Lord has seen fit to curse me!” Jude said, breaking the silence. “I am surrounded by mine enemies!”

  Lobo eased up close and slammed the butt of his rifle into Jude’s side. Ribs cracked under the impact and Jude clasped his arms round his body, hunching over, moaning softly. Lobo jammed the rifle’s muzzle against the side of his head.

  ‘No! Wait!”

  Elizabeth’s cry burst from her lips as she ran forward.

  “Listen to me, Matthew! Please don’t kill him!”

  Lobo’s head came up and he stared at Elizabeth for a long moment. “Why are you using that name? Who are you, woman?”

  Elizabeth continued to approach him.

  Before Brand could react Lobo snapped the rifle to his shoulder, the muzzle leveling on Elizabeth. Brand swore to himself. His first mistake had been not to shoot Lobo the minute he had set eyes on him. Dead the renegade couldn’t have hurt anyone. Now his rifle was trained on Elizabeth. There was no way Brand could get off a clear shot that would guarantee her safety.

  Damn her! Why hadn’t she waited? Why couldn’t she have given him the time he needed? He could have taken his shot. Not that it mattered now. The damage was done.

  “I asked you a question, woman. Who are you?” Lobo’s voice crackled through the silence.

  “I’m Elizabeth Henty. Your sister. My mother was different, but we shared our father. Daniel Henty.”

  Lobo gave a mirthless smile. “Sister? You are a half-sister as I am a half-breed. That is all we have in common.”

  “No, Matthew! We have much more. There is a blood tie between us that words cannot change.”

  “Blood tie!” Lobo spat into the dust. “Do you think I am a fool. Your blood is pure. I have the blood of two races in me. Apache and white. Neither accepts me, and I curse them both!”

  “Listen to me, Matthew. I came to talk. Our father is dead. Before he passed away he begged me to help you.”

  “Help? What help can you offer, little half-sister? I want for nothing. Everything I need is here. Food. Water. Shelter.”

  “My help is of a different kind. Matthew, I want you to come away from here. Give up this life. It’s all just a waste.”

  “Ah! So you want me to surrender. To give myself up so the Army can hang me. Was it the Army who sent you?”

  Elizabeth shook her head angrily. She was close to tears. “No! I came by myself. You have to believe me.”

  “Then who are the whites with you?” Lobo demanded, anger filling his loud voice. “If you came alone where did these two come from?”

  “The law sent me,” Brand said. “My job is to take you in. Any way I can. Alive or dead. The girl knew nothing about me until I told her.”

  Lobo smiled a predator’s smile. He studied Brand for a time. “You killed the one who backtracked?”

  Brand nodded. “Jude and his partners found out who the girl was. They figured she’d lead them to you so they could haul your corpse in for a 30,000 dollar bounty.”

  The smile faded. A shadow darkened Lobo’s face. “Now I am taken notice of,” he said. “But only because I can bring them money.”

  “Then give yourself up, Matthew,” Elizabeth begged. “While you go on the way you are others will come after you. More men like Jude.”

  “And men like him?” Lobo said, staring at Brand.

  “He’s here only because of his duty. He doesn’t do it for the money. He’s protecting the innocent.”

  “Innocent?” Lobo echoed. “Of course! The good. The decent. Words with no meaning. When I tried to live in their towns it was the good people who despised me most of all. The men who called me a dirty breed and spat in my face. But they forgot their words when they visited the brothels and paid money to bed the half-breed whores. Are these your innocents? And their women were worse. They shrank from me in the streets with hate in their eyes. To them I was evil. They hid their children from me and told their daughters never to go near me or I would ravish them in the dirt. I had done nothing to any of them. My only crime was to be born. To live in a shadow world of hate and distrust. You ask me to give myself up to these people. I would sooner cut my own throat.”

  “Maybe you could have tried harder,” Brand said.

  “Why should I have to try harder than others? I wanted only the same chances. I did not ask for more. But I was denied even the most simple things.”

  “So now you figure to kill us all and have it for yourself!”

  “I have chosen my path,” Lobo said. He lashed out with his rifle, brutally slamming the barrel against the side of Jude’s head. “As this one chose the path he walks, so have I taken my own way.”

  The half-breed’s words and the tone of his voice told Brand all he needed to know. There was no mistaking Lobo’s intentions. He would kill them all — Elizabeth included. Sister or no — Lobo would kill her without a moment’s thought.

  It left Brand no choice. He had to make his move there and then, because once Lobo began his deadly work there would be no chance.

  He moved even as the thought crossed his mind, throwing himself forward and down, the Winchester’s muzzle angling up to track Lobo’s already moving form. The rifle settled on Lobo and Brand eased back on the trigger.

  In the instant Brand fired Preacher Jude, reacting to Lobo’s savage blow, threw himself at the half-breed, knocking him off balance. The pair tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs, Jude on top.

  The Winchester’s bullet passed harmlessly over the prone bodies.

  “Liz, get the hell away from here!” Brand yelled as he pushed to his feet. He saw her turn to look in his direction, her face pale, terror-stricken. “Go! Damn you, get out of here!”

  He ran on by her, sensing her turn away. His target was still Lobo. He heard a strangled yell from Jude, and a moment later there was the muffled boom of a handgun. Jude’s bulk lifted from Lobo, twisting over as he rolled away from the renegade. There was a large, gory hole over his heart, blood pumping from it fiercely. As Jude’s dead form hit the ground the front of his shirt still shouldered from the muzzle flash of the pointblank shot.

  Brand triggered the Winchester when he saw that Lobo was holding a revolver as well as his own rifle.

  The .44-40 bullet ripped a gout of bloody flesh from Lobo’s side. The half-breed fell, rolled and came up on one knee. Brand fired again and saw this shot kick up dirt inches away from
the renegade. Then the half-breed’s hand swept round, the revolver glinting in the instant before it fired. Brand saw the muzzle flash, but didn’t hear the shot because the bullet caught him a glancing blow across the side of the head. It was a stunning blow. It spun him round. He felt his senses leave him. He was falling before he realized. Unable to prevent it happening he gasped at the impact. The Winchester spilled from his hands. He fought against the darkness that was threatening to engulf him. Warm blood was spilling down across his face. He tasted the saltiness on his lips. His strength seemed to be draining away. Brand tried to get up, managing to wedge one arm under him. He blinked his eyes, trying to clear them. In the distance, sounding as if it was coming to him along a deep tunnel., he heard a scream. It was a high, shrill, terrified sound, and instinctively he thought of Elizabeth. He rubbed his hand over his eyes. Now he could see a little better. He scanned the area. Moved by the corral. He located the cave entrance. And saw Elizabeth. The half-breed was almost on her. Brand clawed for his Colt, pulling it free. He dogged back the hammer with a great effort. Somehow he lurched to his feet. He took two steps then went down again. That was when he heard the second scream. The utter horror of it tore him apart. He lay helpless, cursing the weakness that held him to the ground. Coming again from a far distance he picked up a sound like the pounding of hooves. He heard shouting. Gunshots. He fought to climb upright again. His mind was full of jumbled, disconnected thoughts. On his feet, lurching drunkenly, he felt a burning pain spearing into his skull. He stared around, through tear filled eyes. Where was that damned breed? A horse squealed. Brand swung round towards the corral. Lobo was astride one of the ponies. The corral was open and the renegade was urging his pony through the gap. Brand brought the Colt up in a clumsy arc, triggering too soon., and saw his bullet rip splinters of pale wood from one of the corner posts. He staggered in the direction of the corral. He reached the gap just as Lobo burst free. Dust billowed up from under the pony’s hooves. Brand made an attempt to block its passing. His free hand caught hold of Lobo’s leg, digging his fingers into the buckskin pants. He felt Lobo begin to slip from the pony’s back. Lobo yelled in wild anger. Brand sensed, rather than saw, the half-breed’s rifle lashing down. It struck him across the skull, pain exploding brutally. Lobo struck again. Brand fell back, letting go of Lobo’s leg. The half-breed kicked out, his foot clouting Brand full in the face. He crashed heavily to the ground. This time when he tried to get up the pain in his head swelled to white-hot agony and he slipped back. Far off he thought he heard someone shout. More shots — then nothing. The pain went away and the world became a silent place filled with blinding light. The light began to fade, turning to grey, then to utter blackness. This time he didn’t even try to fight it. The effort was beyond him. He lay back and drifted ...

  Chapter Fourteen

  Awareness was a long time coming. Brand was not waking from a natural sleep. His injured body had shut down, demanding to be given time to at least begin to heal itself, and there was a reluctance to remove itself from the protection of the recovery process. As he did come out of the soothing darkness and into the physical world, Brand’s first response was to groan against the bands of ragged pain gripping his pounding skull. The pulsing beat had an obscene strength. Each fresh wave caused him to break out in a cold sweat of agony. He wondered if his skull was fractured. He felt nauseous, and he also felt angry at his own apparent weakness.

  When he finally opened his eyes a too-bright light blinded him. He closed his eyes again, glad to be back in the darkness. He lay still, though he was restless and wanted to be on his feet. There were things to be done. Questions to be asked. He wanted to know where Elizabeth was and if she was unharmed. Where was Lobo? And what had been behind all the shooting and shouting he’d heard before passing out? The simple act of considering these matters increased the pain in his head and Brand lapsed into a shallow, restless sleep that was full of grey shadows and unseen dangers. He thought he heard voices again, far off and muted. He tried to identify them but drifted off into unconsciousness again.

  A long time later he roused himself and found that the pain had lessened greatly. His detachment from reality had also faded and he was in full control of his senses now. He opened his eyes. This time the light was subdued, gentle. He realized it was early evening. He was lying on blankets, his body covered. Brand sensed he was being watched.

  He turned to see who was there.

  The brown, impassive face of Nante the Apache stared back at him. A ghost of a smile touched the old warrior’s lips when he realized Brand had recognized him.

  “Death has given up the struggle,” Nante said.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Brand raised a hand to touch his battered face, feeling the thick stubble covering his jaw. “How long has it been?”

  “This is the second night.” Nante called to an Apache who squatted nearby. The Indian got up and padded across to the fire that blazed nearby. “There was little we could do for you. Brand. Although we cleaned your wounds the hurt was in your head. So we waited to see if you lived.”

  Brand watched the other Apache approach. There was a steaming mug in his hand. Brand sat up slowly, fighting against the nausea. The Apache passed him the mug. It was full of hot black coffee.

  “This time I offer you coffee,” Nante said.

  “At least I’m alive to drink it.” “Brand, the woman is dead. Lobo killed her. We were too late to stop him.”

  Brand had been expecting something along those lines. If Elizabeth had been alive and well she would have come to him. Even so the blunt, sparse words spoken by the Apache bit deep. The memory of the scream he had heard during the final moments before blacking out came flooding back. Brand shuddered violently. She had died and he had been unable to prevent it happening. He recalled the night they had shared together; her last night alive, though neither of them had known it at the time.

  He remembered something she had said.

  “It never lasts does it!”

  “Nante, did she die quickly?”

  “What is quickly? She suffered — yet she spoke your name, Brand. Then she died.”

  Brand drained the mug of coffee. He stared around the campsite. He was lying just outside the cave. Gathered together by the fire were three Apaches, talking quietly among themselves. A number of horses milled around inside the corral. His own animal, and the one Elizabeth had ridden were among them.

  “It was your horse that brought us here,” Nante told him. “Though we had started south I began to have bad feelings about Lobo. My spirit shadow spoke to me and said Lobo would spill blood. I heeded his words and took three of my warriors. We came to help you, Brand. You are a friend of The People. We found tracks and followed them. Then we heard shooting. One of my warriors found your horse. We saw sign and found a dead man. And the sign led us up here to this place.”

  “Lobo?”

  “He escaped us.” This time even Nante was unable to keep the bitterness out of his voice. “He knows this place better than we do. And our ponies were tired after the climb. Though we gave chase he avoided us and rode away.”

  Brand pushed the blankets aside and struggled to his feet. The world spun for a time. He stayed upright though, determined not to go down again. He didn’t. It took time and it hurt, but he made it to the fire and helped himself to another mug of coffee. One of the Apaches offered him a hunk of hot, greasy meat. Brand wolfed it down. He wasn’t sure what the meat was, though he had his own ideas. He was too hungry to worry.

  “I know what is in your heart, Brand,” Nante said as he joined Brand by the fire. “But you should rest longer.”

  Brand knew the Apache was right. He was still weak. On the other hand he couldn’t allow Lobo too greater a lead. The renegade wouldn’t be leaving an easy trail to follow and tracks didn’t show for ever.

  “Which way did he go, Nante?”

  The old Apache sighed. “You would make a good Apache, Brand. Once I had your stubborn w
ays too.”

  “Nante, you’ve still got them. Now which way did he go?”

  Nante beckoned one of the Apaches. “Che followed his trail the first day. Lobo rode down towards the Grande. He will not return to this place. And you wounded him, Brand. We talked and agree he will go west, then south. Beyond the Grande and into the badlands. Maybe Sonora.”

  The Apaches were making sense. The area they were describing would be ideal for Lobo’s purpose. It was a lonely, sun bleached place. There was nothing but desert and rocky mountains. A part of New Mexico that jutted further south into Mexico than anywhere else along the border country. The Hatchet Mountains lay here, with Big Hatchet Peak rising to around eight thousand feet. It was barren country. A place where no one travelled unless they were forced to by circumstances. There were no regular trails. Or habitation. There was water if you knew where to find it. Years back the Apache raiding parties had used it when they made forays up out of Sonora and Chihuahua. Dead country, harsh, seared by the sun it might be, but to Lobo it would offer sanctuary. He would find himself a place to rest, to tend his wounds, knowing there would be little chance of being disturbed. If the need arose Lobo could lose himself for years in that barren corner of the territory. Biding his time. Letting nature heal old wounds and erase memories. There was always Mexico, still a haven, if he wanted to make use of it.

  “I’ll head out in the morning,” Brand said, and Nante accepted his decision.

  Brand took another chunk of the meat offered to him. Now that his initial hunger had been eased he took his time with this piece. He was able to taste the meat better this time. He was able to identify it too. Horsemeat. The Apache never wasted a thing. They would take a near-dead horse and get another day’s ride from it. When it finally did die on them they ate it. It was a pointer as to why the Apache had survived for so long in such a hostile environment. They became as one with the land. They learned not to fight it, but to exist alongside it, making use of it, wasting nothing.