by Neil Hunter
‘Take a seat, sir,’ Pointer said, gesturing towards a ladder-back chair placed in front of the surprisingly large desk. Bodie eased himself down—carefully—and settled himself as Pointer took the swivel chair behind the desk. ‘You look to be in some discomfort.’
‘Cabot and his boys were in a mind to cause me some,’ Bodie said.
Pointer stared at some point over Bodie’s shoulder and it was obvious he was considering his next words with care. It took Bodie less than a few heartbeats to figure out what the lawman was thinking.
‘Sheriff Pointer, we might as well get this said straight off. I’m not a lawman, I guess you have that worked out. Put it straight I’m a bounty man. I chase after men wanted by the regular law and collect the rewards on them. Might not be to the delicate tastes of some folk but until the law is strong enough to deal with things better … well … ’
Pointer sank back in his seat, relief crossing his pleasant face. He laid his hands flat on the desk. ‘Seems to me you covered everything I was thinking. And truth be told, a man wearing a badge can end up doing what you do. He chases criminals too. Gets paid as well, I suppose.’
‘Never actually thought on that. Pretty close to the truth. But not everyone sees a bounty man in a clear light.’
They both turned as a shadow fell across the door. A smiling and attractive woman, around Pointer’s age, wearing a dark gray dress stepped inside. She was carrying a wooden tray that held a steaming coffee pot and a pair of china mugs. She placed the tray on the desk, then stepped back, nodding at Bodie.
Pointer said, ‘This is Mr. Bodie. He had a run in with Will Cabot and his crew.’
‘I am sorry to hear that, Mr. Bodie. Truth is those mustangers can be a undisciplined bunch.’
‘Yes, ma’am, I found that out.’
‘I’ll leave you to your official business, Ezra.’
Bodie half rose. ‘Ma’am, thanks for the coffee.’
‘You’re very welcome,’ she said and left the office.
Pointer poured coffee for them both.
‘When I mentioned Sam Trask, Sheriff, I saw you react.’
The lawman slid open a drawer and after a little shuffling of paper he drew out a wanted flyer and held it up. It was the identical one Bodie had folded in his shirt pocket.
‘That is all I have. To my knowledge that man has never shown his face in Colton. Tell me, Mr. Bodie, how did you learn about him?’
‘Marshal from Yankton, Ed Pruitt, was escorting Trask for trial. Their coach was in a crash. Pruitt took a crack to the skull. While he was unconscious Trask freed himself, took the Marshal’s gun and escaped on one of the coach horses. But he also shot and killed the coach driver before he left.’
‘Poster says he stands accused of murder and rape. He kills one man but leaves the other. Conflicting behavior.’
‘Makes you think, Marshal.’
Pointer sipped from his mug. ‘How do you figure it?’
‘Not for me to judge. Ed Pruitt asked me to go after Trask. I’ll do that and hand him over. Marshal’s office is stretched pretty thin these days and if Trask decides to jump over the border … ’
‘Into Canada?’
‘Officially Pruitt’s department has no jurisdiction. He’d have to get permission from the local Canadian authorities. He might well get it, but you can be sure it would take a long time with things going back and forth. Trask could be so far away by then it might be a lost cause.’
‘But you don’t need permission, I take it?’
Bodie reached out to top up his mug. ‘Your missus makes good coffee, Marshal Pointer.’
Pointer understood there was no more to say on the matter.
‘The doc said Monty’s Restaurant was a good place to eat.’
‘It is. That what’s next?’
Bodie nodded.
‘Then a place to bed down for the night. Let Doc Meerschaum’s liniment do its job.’
‘His famous potion for all ills?’ Pointer smiled. ‘Truth is it works. Had a badly sprained wrist a few months back. Doctor treated it and damned if it wasn’t right as rain in a few days.’
‘Food first, then a room.’
‘Other end of town. The boarding house. I’ll take a walk there while you eat. Ask Mrs. Toliver to have something ready for you.’
‘Marshal, this town is making things easy for me.’
‘I daresay once you ride on after Trask, things might not be so easy.’
Chapter Three
Sometime earlier Claude Tessler rode back into camp, tending his horse before crossing to confront Will Cabot. The look on his face drew Cabot’s attention and he waited until Tessler helped himself to coffee from the blackened pot set over the campfire.
‘What in hell twisted your tail?’ Cabot asked, sensing Tessler’s mood.
‘You want to know?’
Cabot sneered, his hard features twisting. ‘Jesus, Claude … ’
‘He’s in town,’ Tessler said, gulping at the coffee. ‘That manhunter. Bodie. Saw him big as life going into Doc Meerschaum’s office. Looked like he was walkin’ careful like he was still hurtin’, but he was walkin’.
‘You sure it was him?’
‘Hard to miss, him bein’ a big hombre and with his showing where we beat up on him. It was him, Will. I done watched him walk down the street.’
Cabot took the makings from his shirt pocket and rolled himself a thin quirly. He fired up a match on his gun-butt, drawing deep of the smoke. He took his time looking around the untidy sprawl of the mustang camp, his mind working as he considered his next move.
‘Get back to town,’ he said. ‘See if you can figure what that feller is up to. Plain to see he didn’t heed our warning. Do it quiet like, but nose around. Need to find out if he’s been talking to Pointer.’
‘I could maybe crowd the lawdog a little. See what’s going on.’
‘Use your head, Claude. Ain’t going to be smart riding the law. Pointer’s no big-time lawman, but in Colton he packs a star. Just bide your time and walk soft around him. Go buy some supplies. Make it look like a genuine call to town. But stay easy.’
Tessler finished his coffee. Tossed the dregs away. He made his way across to where their horses were tethered in a bunch and picked out one of the mules they used for carrying gear.
Watching him go Cabot finished his smoke before he called out to his waiting crew. They sauntered across to pick up their own mounts and trailed out of camp, heading up into the hills where they would pick up the trail of the wild horse herd. They already had a dozen mustangs in a box canyon where one of the crew watched over them. Cabot had decided they needed another dozen or so before they herded them down out of the hills and made the trek to make trade with the stock. They would sell them off, as they had done before. The Army was always on the lookout for fresh mounts and Cabot also had a good contact for civilian trading. Ranches were good customers. Buying off Cabot saved them the bother of having to go out and chase the wild herds themselves, and for additional cash Cabot could offer his own men to break in the animals. It was a hard life and took hard men to put up with it. It suited Cabot. His crew was the same. They endured the hard, risky life because it allowed them the freedom of being men beholden to no one and the rewards were well worth the effort.
As they trailed out of camp, leaving behind the cook and his helper and a couple of men to watch the remuda, Cabot found himself still concerned over the man, Bodie. Having the manhunter around was something he could have done without. He hadn’t said anything out loud, keeping the knowledge to himself, but he had heard about the man.
As a bounty hunter Bodie had few equals. His reputation went ahead of him. He was a hard-driven man. Never one to step back from any situation and he was known to stay on a fugitive’s trail until it was over. A man could run but never—it was claimed—far enough once Bodie was dogging his tracks.
Son of a bitch, Cabot murmured to himself.
As if he didn’t have enough to
handle without Trask showing up. He could have gone in a dozen different directions instead of seeking out Cabot. But that was the trouble with family. They tended to seek each other out when things went wrong. Cabot had no say in the matter now. He was bound to do what he could to help Sam Trask.
After all he was Cabot’s son.
Estranged maybe. Always in trouble. But he was Cabot’s flesh and blood, and that had to count for something.
He suddenly found himself with a thin smile on his face.
‘What in hell’s making you so happy?’
The question came from one of his crew, a lanky, thin faced man called Jefferson. He had eased his chestnut mare alongside Cabot and the question had formed when he saw his boss’s expression.
‘Why not?’ Cabot said. ‘Nice day and everything’s going my way.’
‘If you say so, boss,’ Jefferson said. ‘Still don’t make this dust taste any better, though.’
Jefferson frowned at the response. It wasn’t like Cabot to say such things. He lost the thought then when he heard a yell from one of the crew. They were nearing the canyon and Jefferson was needed. He reined his horse aside and spurred it to catch up, his curiosity forgotten.
Cabot watched him go. He allowed he had been letting his attention wander. Trask’s unexpected intrusion back into his life had been distracting him. Now was not the time for things like that. He needed to stay focused. If he wasn’t careful he might let himself blunder into a situation that might prove difficult to get out of.
~*~
Claude Tessler rode back into Colton, the pack mule trailing behind on its lead rope. He pulled off his hat and sleeved his arm across his forehead to remove the sweat. The day had unexpectedly turned hot. Dust from his horse’s hoofs rose and tickled his nostrils. He pulled his hat back on, jerking the brim down to shade his face. He decided what he needed right now was a beer. Tessler preferred beer to spirits and beer any day. A beer would go down nicely.
He let his horse, pace itself along the rutted street until it reached the hitch rail outside The Colton Palace. It was one of the two saloons the town boasted. In Tessler’s opinion it was the better of the pair. He dismounted and secured his animals, took himself up on the boardwalk and paused to look the town over. There were no more than a handful of people going about their business. Tessler allowed his gaze to linger on Pointer’s store front and the jail next to it.
He wondered where Bodie was. The thought crossed his mind that maybe the manhunter had moved on. Picked up where he had left off before running into the mustangers. If that was the case then Tessler staying around Colton would prove to be a waste of time. Tessler decided he could follow the thought up after he’d had his glass of beer. Or two …
He made his way inside the saloon, dry hinges creaking as the batwings swung to and fro. Out of the sun the interior took on a shady coolness. Tessler crossed to the long bar that dominated the right-hand side of the room. The open space left held a number of tables and chairs. At this time of the day, mid-afternoon, there were no more than a half dozen customers occupying the tables.
‘Beer,’ Tessler said to the stocky, mustachioed bartender.
With the filled glass in front of him Tessler took his time to imagine what it would taste like. Anticipation was often worth the time it took.
‘You going to drink it, Tessler, or stare it to death?’ said the bartender.
‘Don’t rush me, Quinn, I ain’t a man to be herded when it comes to my beer.’
Quinn managed a smile and moved away to wipe the bar, leaving Tessler to his study of the amber liquid.
It was well over an hour later when Tessler exited The Colton Palace, his thirst well dusted down. Maybe too well dusted down, because true to his character, Tessler had downed a number of beers. One of his faults was he enjoyed his drinking too much, an inherent weakness that let him indulge whenever the mood took him. Tessler had been working on the mustang trail for a few longs weeks and in the hills there was little chance to slake his thirst on anything except coffee—or plain water. Being sent to town, albeit on a fact finding mission, had let Tessler off the leash. Away from Cabot and the restrictions imposed by long hours in the saddle, eating dust and breathing in the stink of wild horses. He had done his drinking on a near-empty stomach which did nothing to reduce the effects of the alcohol. By the time walked slowly from the saloon and out into the fresh air, Tessler was less than steady.
He paused on the edge of the boardwalk, a faint lightheadedness taking hold, yet Tessler was denying his slightly inebriated condition to himself. Like any man of his type he always felt in control.
He took a moment to check the street, hitching his sagging gunbelt across his hips, settling the holster against his pants. The leather holster held the short-barreled .45 Colt’s Peacemaker he favored. The pistol had a set of wooden handles he had carved himself. They had a rough texture that increased his ability to achieve a solid grip when he drew. Now Claude Tessler relished his reputation as a shooter to be reckoned with. He had faced a number of opponents and had walked away from those encounters without a bullet coming near him. Tessler didn’t openly brag about his skill. It was not in him. He knew he was good, and he didn’t need anyone to tell him. And would not have welcome it. As he stood on the boardwalk Tessler’s fingers freed the Colt’s hammer loop, clearing it from the pistol.
He had been sent into Colton to find out what he could concerning Bodie. He had taken his drink, so now it was time to do just that. Refusing to accept he was not fully in control of himself Tessler stepped awkwardly from the boardwalk and focused on the jail. Tessler had a feeling Colton’s lawman would be able to furnish him with any information regarding the bounty man. Be damned to what Cabot had said about not bracing the lawdog. Tessler didn’t need instructions. He would find out Bodie’s business in town and do it without wasting too much time. He hadn’t quite figured out how he would broach the subject with Ezra Pointer but he would think of something.
Damn right he would.
He was partway along the street when Bodie appeared and started across. He moved steadily, favoring his sides and Tessler was reminded of the beating the mustangers had given him.
Served the sonofabitch right. Asking too many questions that Cabot hadn’t liked.
Tessler recalled the manhunter’s stubborn refusal to back away when they had braced him back at the camp. Even when Cabot had warned him off he had stood his ground and fought back like a wildcat, taking on four of them. He had got in a few good punches of his own before the mustangers took the high ground and put him down. Tessler reached up his left hand and touched the sore spot on his cheek where Bodie had caught him.
He stroked his fingers over the butt of his .45. This was a good a time as any to brace the man if he showed his face. He knew he could take the man. Bodie was a bounty hunter, not a fast draw, and the lingering effects of the beating would have slowed him anyhow. Tessler had no qualms about facing Bodie. If the man wasn’t fast enough that was his misfortune. Cabot wanted him out of his hair, so this was as good a time as any. All he had to do was call Bodie out and put him down for good.
The hell with Pointer. Tessler would go directly to the bounty man himself. There were a few people around to witness the event. Tessler would give Bodie fair warning. Even give him a chance to go for his own gun to prove it was a fair fight.
‘Bodie,’ Tessler called.
Chapter Four
He made his turn slowly, knowing a fast move would wrench at his sore ribs. The direct challenge in the single word told him this was no casual greeting. Coming around he let his right hand slip easily to his side, level with the butt of the holstered Colt. The moment he laid eyes on the speaker Bodie recognized him.
The one called Tessler from the mustangers’ camp. Next to Cabot he had been the main one who seemed to relish using his fists and boots. Bodie tamped down on the anger that threatened to rise. Yet he had a feeling to let his rage overwhelm him at the way the men in tha
t camp had attacked him, but letting his emotions swamp his good sense right at this moment wasn’t about to do him any favors. Facing a man who was intent on using his gun needed calm nerves and cool judgment. From the flushed look on Tessler’s unshaven face Bodie assumed the man was already wound up tight. Out the corner of his eye Bodie spotted a mule and horse hitched outside The Colton Palace. His guess would be that Tessler had spent some time in there. A drink, or a few, to combat the hot day before he walked out and spotted Bodie. That could account for the sweating face and the way Tessler rubbed his left hand across his dry mouth. His right hand hovered over the gun he wore, fingers flexing.
‘Let it lie, feller. We had our go around at your camp. No need to make more of it.’
‘You damn well called us liars back there. We told you we didn’t know anything about nobody called Trask.’ Tessler thrust out his hand, finger jabbing in Bodie’s direction. ‘I figure that a downright insult, and I won’t take that from any man.’
Now it was the drink talking. Bodie picked up on the hint of a slur in Tessler’s voice.
‘I asked a question. You fellers were shy of telling the truth is all. You figure it’s enough to go for a shooting match? Man would have to be a fool to do that.’
Tessler blinked as salty sweat trickled into his eyes. No matter what happened now he was not about to back away. He couldn’t back away. People were pausing along each side of the street, interest peaking as they watched. A shadow of doubt invaded Tessler’s beer induced nervousness. But he bridled at Bodie’s suggestion he was less than willing to speak the truth.
Now he would have to show the bastard manhunter Claude Tessler could defend this personal insult.
‘You called me a liar? Bad enough. Now you say I’m a fool. No man calls me a that, Bodie. Especially a backshooting bounty hunter.’
‘Tessler, you’re facing me right now. Do you want me to turn away to give you a better chance?’