by Neil Hunter
Tessler was at a loss. Caught by a few words that had rebounded on him.
‘The hell with you, Bodie, let’s do this … ’
‘It’s the drink talking, Tessler. Go sleep it off before … ’
Without even realizing how it was playing out, Claude Tessler went for his fast draw, fingers curling around his gun butt, feeling the textured grips against his flesh. In his wavering vision he saw Bodie standing motionless, too slow by far. Tessler’s pistol cleared the holster, hammer being seared back as the weapon arced upwards.
He never saw Bodie’s draw. Missed the blur of motion as the manhunter’s Colt rose, leveled, Bodie firing, cocking and firing again in a heartbeat.
Tessler felt a solid thump against his chest, then a second. The big lead slugs splintered rib bones and punctured his heart, the deformed bullets tearing the organ apart. He fell back, slamming to the ground hard but barely felt the impact. His right hand opened and his unfired Colt slipped from his grasp. The sudden silence that swept over Tessler was more terrifying than anything he had ever known. He saw the bright sky looming above him—yet it went from light to utter darkness so quickly Tessler had no time to wonder why.
~*~
‘What happened here?’ Pointer asked as he came out of his office, right hand clutching a pistol he had snatched from his desk drawer.
He took in the scene at a glance.
Bodie standing across the street, gun in his hand, facing in the direction of the man stretched out in the dirt.
It was Claude Tessler. On his back, his drawn Colt in the dust close by. Tessler’s hat lay a few feet away, moving as the slight breeze disturbed it.
A man close by said, ‘Mustanger came out the saloon and braced the other feller. Wouldn’t let it go, then went for his gun.’
‘Seen it myself,’ another said. ‘Tessler looked a little grieved about something. Way he acted I’d say he’d been drinking some … ’
A small crowd was gathering, drawn by the violence and the dead man. Instinctive curiosity that was always revealed. Bodie put his gun away and walked over to where Pointer stood. The lawman stared at Bodie, trying to understand the suddenness of what had happened. He was a part-time official and the kind of violence that had visited Colton was something beyond his remit.
‘Better get something to cover the body,’ Bodie said. ‘Don’t want too many women, or kids to see it.’
Pointer nodded and looked around, picking someone from the gathering crowd.
‘Jonas, go tell Brinkerman there’s a body needs tending. Ask him to deal with it soon as.’
A lean, towheaded young man in a dark suit, clutching a dangling tailor’s tape measure in one hand, drew his gaze from the body and started up the street.
Pointer’s wife appeared, a folded sheet in her hands and with her husband’s help covered the body.
‘Are you hurt, Mr. Bodie?’ she asked.
‘No, ma’am, but thanks for asking.’
‘I saw what happened from the store window. Why was that man so angry with you?’
‘He had a notion I’d slighted him and was bound and determined to put it to rights.’
‘By making you fight over it? Was it worth losing his life for?’
‘Jen, it’s done,’ Pointer said quietly. ‘I doubt Mr. Bodie wanted it to happen so.’
Mr. Bodie, notwithstanding the circumstances, might have thought differently but said nothing. He walked in a different world than the one Jen Pointer inhabited. The sudden and merciless violence he experienced had no place in her ordered existence and even if he sat down and tried to explain it, she would not have understood. Claude Tessler would have no problem in the telling. He had lived in the uncompromising place that paralleled Bodie’s own. The harsh reality of their lives was accepted. It had become the norm and they took the knocks that came with it.
‘Pointer, I’ll move on come morning,’ Bodie said. ‘Last thing you need is me drawing any more problems your way.’
‘There’s no need for that. Bodie, this man here came looking for you with the intention of causing trouble. I regret he had to die, but I don’t hold you responsible. From what I’ve heard you had little choice. You simply defended yourself.’
‘And if any more of Will Cabot’s men come to town? If the same thing happens and an innocent party is involved?’
Pointer became aware of the gun still dangling from his hand. He quickly tucked it behind his belt.
‘Four years I’ve been part-time marshal. Never fired a weapon in all those years.’ He gave a soft laugh. ‘Damned if I would know what to do if the time came … ’
‘You’d do what was needed. I’d better go and have that meal I was planning on, then I’ll get some rest. I’ll ride out at first light. See if I can pick up on Trask’s trail again.’
Bodie nodded in Jen Pointer’s direction and turned about, heading for the restaurant just along the street.
Chapter Five
Bodie had learned a long time back that eating well before a long trek was a good habit to acquire. Leaving Colton would put him on a trail that might easily take him into lonely country, where food and drink would only come from what a man was able to carry with him. There was only so much he would be able to pack along and depending on local weather conditions cooking a meal might not be so easy. So Bodie took himself a table in Monty’s Restaurant he ordered a big steak, with all the trimmings and a pot of fresh coffee to go with.
Monty turned out to be a handsome, middle-aged woman who appeared to have full knowledge of Bodie’s business in town. Within a minute of sitting down she placed a mug of steaming coffee in front of him and took his order, passing it through to the kitchen. Bodie had just sampled the coffee when the woman showed up again, an inquiring look on her face.
‘Can I take a guess that what happened out there is not your first time, Mr. Bodie?’
‘Now that’s a direct way of saying hello.’
‘I have no toleration of time-wasting chatter. That man, Tessler, made it his intention to push you into a gunfight.’
‘Yes he did, ma’am.’
She studied the bruising marks on his face and the way he sat stiffly, favoring his sides.
‘He have anything to do with your injuries?’
‘He was involved.’
‘Will Cabot’s crew?’
‘Yes’m.’
‘You would have been well advised to stay well clear of those mustangers.’
‘Too late now.’
‘Mr. Bodie, I declare you are a man of few words.’
‘Coffee’s good.’
She laughed at that. An honest, husky sound that filled the room.
‘Monty?’
‘My late, departed husband was Roman Montefiore. So I became Lucinda Montefiore. Never liked Lucinda and I kind of took to Monty when Roman called me that. I let it stay out of respect.’
In the pause that followed Bodie decided the name suited the woman.
‘You have this place when he was alive?’
‘We did. When we came here Colton was just getting established. Roman loved to cook. And he was good at it. He knew where people gathered they would need a place to eat. The town. The outlying ranches. Passing trade.’ She hesitated. ‘I wouldn’t know what else to do, Bodie. It’s my life. And you, Bodie, is what you do your life?’
‘I guess so. We all find the path best suited to us.’
‘Profound.’
‘Coming from a bounty hunter you mean.’
‘I wasn’t talking down to you. I just figure there’s more to your story. What were you before you took to chasing down men?’
‘A US Marshal.’
‘You gave up that life? There must have been a good reason.’
This time he simply nodded. A teenage girl emerged from the kitchen, carrying a tray that held Bodie’s food. The plate she set down was loaded with a large steak, browned potatoes and vegetables. A jug of rich gravy and a side plate of hot biscuits followed.
>
‘If it tastes as good as it looks no wonder this place is so popular.’
Monty smiled. ‘Tell all your friends.’
Bodie held her gaze. ‘Friends?’
In that single word Monty understand a part of what made up Bodie’s life. He was a man always on the move. His trade as a hunter of men made him a loner, travelling from place to place and seeking out the fugitives of society. Not a profession that would endear him to many and most likely bring out the worst in some. Thinking on that made her wonder why he stayed with it. Placing him in danger. Risking harm to himself. As an occupation being a bounty hunter offered little in recompense for the danger, the hardship and the distancing from much of polite society.
‘This man you’re following,’ Monty asked. ‘Is there a connection to Will Cabot and his mustangers?’
‘I just asked if they knew his whereabouts,’ Bodie said. ‘It got me a beating.’ He managed a wry smile. ‘And I still don’t know why. Yet.’
‘Tessler took it badly?’
‘Feller figured I’d slighted him. Insulted him. Kind of touched a raw nerve.’
‘But to die for it?’
‘Fine line between an insult and a man’s pride.’
‘Pride?’
‘Times are that’s all a man has. It’s important to him.’
‘The man is dead, Bodie. He died for nothing.’
‘Yes, ma’am.’
‘And this man you are chasing? Do the same rules apply? Wanted dead or alive?’
‘I work by what the law dictates. That’s the way it is, ma’am.’
‘Sounds so cut and dried, Mr. Bodie. And convenient.’
Bodie caught the bitter tone in her voice before she checked herself and made an awkward sweep of her hand over her hair, brushing it back from her face. He kept his eyes on his plate, concentrating on the food.
Monty stood for a moment, looking down at him. Her hands at her sides were clenched into tight fists. Bodie senses a deal of tension there and found himself wondering why
‘I should let you finish your meal in peace, Mr. Bodie. Excuse my outburst. I must still be upset after the shooting. It isn’t something that happens a lot in Colton.’
She turned away suddenly, crossing the restaurant and disappeared in the kitchen. Bodie watched her go, trying to figure the change of mood. He decided to let it go and concentrated on his steak, which was turning out to be good. He finished his meal, emptied the coffee pot. After he paid the young waitress he left the restaurant and made his way to the boarding house Pointer had recommended, getting directions from people he asked.
It turned out to be a two-story, white painted house, standing behind a picket fence and a tidy piece of garden. As Bodie took himself to the steps leading to the verandah the house door opened and a stern-faced woman in her fifties stepped out, regarding him soberly. Hands crossed in front of her she watched Bodie in silence.
He took off his hat.
‘Mrs. Toliver? The marshal told me … ’
‘I have your room ready, Mr. Bodie. I hope you will not be wearing that weapon inside my house.’
Bodie removed his rig and coiled it up. ‘No, ma’am.’
‘Thank you for that.’ There was a pained expression on her face as she took in his travel-stained clothing. ‘Have you any clean things to wear, Mr. Bodie?’
‘My gear is down at the livery. I can go get it.’
‘No need. I’ll send Obadiah.’ Her manner changed and she looked him over. ‘Ezra said you had been hurt. From the way you walk I’d say he was not exaggerating.’
‘Doc Meerschaum tended to me.’
‘Yes. I can smell that infernal liniment he favors.’ The hint of a smile touch her pale lips. ‘Truth be told it does smell, but it has powerful properties.’
She led the way inside and Bodie followed her along the neat passage. There were pictures on the walls, doors leading off on either side. He could hear a clock ticking somewhere. A neat and orderly house. Just like Mrs. Toliver. She pushed a door open to reveal a sunlit room that held a bed and furniture. On a small table by the window was an ornate oil lamp.
‘There’s a bathroom two doors along. Privy is out back. I can have Obadiah heat some water so you can wash when he gets back from the livery with your belongings. Will the room be suitable?’
Bodie put his wrapped gunrig aside and covered it with his hat.
‘Ma’am, it is more than suitable. I’m grateful for your hospitality.’
‘The marshal tells me you had little choice in the matter when that man challenged you.’
‘I could have walked away but my feeling was if I did I would have given him an easier target. Don’t know how else I could have handled it. He wasn’t agreeable to talking it out.’
Bodie had a restless night, sleep hard coming due to his sore ribs. He found it difficult to settle. He slept eventually and when he rose, Mrs. Toliver prepared him a good breakfast. Later he made his way to the stable, saddled the chestnut and secured his supplies. It was a warm morning when he called by the store and spoke briefly to Pointer before taking his leave of Colton.
Chapter Six
Bodie traversed the steep slope, letting his horse pick its way over the uneven ground. He sat easy in his saddle, still conscious of the tender condition of his ribs. His face was still sore so he passed on trying to shave. He was determined not to allow his physical condition to cause him to lose his concentration. He had found the faint tracks left by Trask and Bodie was hell bent on not losing them. Tracking the man was turning out to be easier than he might have expected. Trask was not making any attempt to hide his trail. Most likely intent on making time and distance against anyone following him. It made no real sense. And because of that Bodie was concerned. A running man might be lax in his efforts to hide where he was going, but even the moist desperate would make some attempt to cover his back trail.
‘Horse, I don’t like the way this is stringing out,’ Bodie said. ‘It’s like he doesn’t care if he’s followed.’
The powerful chestnut, used to picking up its rider’s verbal comments, simply dipped its head and gave a low nicker of sound.
‘You’re a great help.’
He heeled the chestnut forward, still conscious of the nagging doubt in his mind. It was that doubt that made Bodie lean forward to slide the rifle from the saddle boot.
And that move drew him clear of the slug coming from behind. He felt the ripple of it passing him close. Kicked his feet free from the stirrups and rolled off the horse. Bodie managed to keep his feet under him as he landed, dropping to a crouch and bringing the Winchester into play. He bit back the surge of pain from his ribs as the impact of his sudden move disturbed them …
He heard a second shot. The slug kicked up a gout of dirt, a couple of feet to his left. Grit peppered his legs. Bodie spotted a dip in the ground and slid into it, twisting over onto his stomach and searched in the direction of the shooter. Saw a fading drift of powder smoke coming from a clump of brush. His sighting was confirmed when a third shot came, the hard crash of the weapon echoing across the slopes. His ambusher was using a rifle. Confirming that didn’t ease Bodie’s situation any.
He heard the thump of the chestnut’s hoofs as the animal moved away.
He stayed motionless and waited. He had the shooter’s position marked now, and though he hadn’t yet been able to see him in amongst the close vegetation, he knew he would be able to spot him if the man made to change position. Bodie’s rifle rested on the lip of the depression, butt against his shoulder and his finger hovering over the trigger.
Come on you son of a bitch. Show yourself.
It happened a couple of minutes later when the brush was disturbed and the manhunter’s patience was rewarded by a dark bulk easing to one side. Light flickered off the barrel of a rifle, only briefly, but enough to give Bodie his target.
He took a breath. Held it and led his target before stroking back on the rifle’s light trigger. He felt the Winc
hester kick back. Bodie levered and fired again. The shots were loud in his ears.
A man cried out. There was thrashing movement in the brush.
Bodie pushed to his feet, this time ignoring the pain in his ribs as he cut across the slope. He came on the clump of brush from the side. Picked up the groans coming from the heart of the brush.
The shooter was hunched over, his dark clad legs pulled up almost to his chest in obvious agony. His hands were clutching at the bloody wounds high up on his chest where Bodie’s slugs had hit off to the left side and due to the short range had gone all the way through and exited his shoulder, leaving behind large ragged wounds. Blood was flowing from both side of his body, already having soaked his buckskin shirt in excess.
The man was moaning in a continuous high-pitched voice, the sound grating on Bodie’s nerves. He bent over and cleared away the man’s dropped rifle and the .44 caliber pistol in the holster.
The man twisted his head round to stare up at Bodie who didn’t recognize him. The man had a pinched face with pocked skin and a straggly sandy mustache. He had lost his hat, exposing a bald skull.
‘I’ll bet that hurts something awful,’ Bodie said.
The man stared at him. Tears were running from his screwed up eyes leaving pale tracks in his dirt smeared cheeks.
‘I nearly had you there, pilgrim,’ the man whispered.
‘Nearly ain’t good enough,’ Bodie said. ‘You feel like telling me why?’
‘Gold pieces in my pocket. That do?’
‘Damn shame you won’t get to spend them.’
The man didn’t reply and when Bodie checked he was unconscious. Blood was still coming from the wounds in copious amounts. The man’s breathing was shallow. Bodie understood the signs. The loss of blood was becoming too much. The man was close to death. It would have taken the skill of someone like Doc Meerschaum to keep the man alive and even he would have struggled. The man had taken money with the intention of shooting the manhunter—in the back as well—and that annoyed him.
Bodie crossed to where the man had been concealed. Thirty feet further back in the brush he found the man’s horse. He led it back to where the unconscious man still lay. He stripped off the saddle and trappings and swatted the horse on the rump, setting it free. He took the man’s blanket roll and slid it under the man’s head. He felt the man’s eyes on him.