by E. L. Ripley
“None.”
“Well, what do you have?”
Carpenter opened his mouth, then shut it. “Some tobacco, but it belonged to a dead man.”
“He don’t need it no more. You go on and keep that.” He stepped forward and patted him down.
“Al,” Murphy said.
“Yeah?”
“Do you see this fellow in front of me? Am I dreaming?” he asked, staring at Yates.
“I don’t believe so, Murph.”
“I mean it. Come here and look.”
Frowning, Al nodded to the third man to take over watching and joined Murphy. Together they confronted Yates, whose face was stony.
“Look at him,” Murphy said.
“I’m looking,” Al replied.
Murphy pulled Yates out of the shade and and pointed at his face. “That’s Stanford Yates, you blind animal.”
Al squinted. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “You know, they done a better job on your picture than his,” he added, jerking his thumb at Silva. “His don’t look like him at all.”
“Would you look at that? There’s another five hundred dollars, and aren’t you a stupid son of a gun?” Murphy folded his arms, looking genuinely puzzled. “Yates, how were you going to collect his bounty without being hung yourself?”
Yates didn’t say a word, and Carpenter didn’t know that he’d ever seen a man more miserable. These men thought Silva was someone he wasn’t, and they thought Yates and Carpenter were bounty hunters hoping to cash him in. They were wrong about all of it, but they were the ones holding the guns.
Rene lay in his blankets on the ground, shivering. A foam had appeared at the corners of his mouth, and there was no color left in him. None of the three bounty hunters had even spared him a glance.
“What about him, then?” Al asked, turning on Carpenter.
“I don’t know him,” Murphy replied, using the muzzle of his pistol to scratch his cheek. “What’s your name?”
“Bill Carpenter.”
“I ain’t heard of him,” Al said.
“Probably ain’t his real name. But he’s a keeping company with Stanford Yates, so he might yet be worth something. Is there a bounty on you, mister?”
“I reckon so,” Carpenter replied. If there wasn’t, what reason did these men have not to shoot him? Reasoning with them would have been a waste of time, and there was no sense bargaining. In a minute they were going to wonder what was in the sack, and they’d take the gold too.
The past few days had made Carpenter more accustomed to change than he had been, but it was always hardest when there was no warning. It was the same for Yates. Last night, his good fortunes had taken a sudden turn. This morning they’d turned worse, and it wasn’t easy for him to keep up. Life hadn’t treated him kindly, but he still wasn’t a man accustomed to being on the wrong end of the gun.
“Purely for my edification,” Silva asked calmly, standing with tied hands, “who is it you believe I am?”
The third man just grinned at him, showing all his black teeth. Carpenter couldn’t be sure, but chances seemed good they thought he was that very man they’d met in the woods. He’d told them there were bounty hunters behind him. He’d said it clearly.
“Well, now we’re all acquainted, I suppose daylight’s wasting,” Murphy announced, making a show of consulting an imaginary pocket watch.
“Well, we sure as hell ain’t taking this one with us,” Al said, and it happened too quickly for anyone to do anything. He pulled his knife, bent over Rene, and sawed his throat wide open.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
It wasn’t the same.
When Penelope had gone and died on him, Carpenter had been none too pleased about it. In fact the dying might’ve been the easy part. It was the waiting with her for it to come for those long weeks that had brought him so low. Of course it hadn’t been right; of course she shouldn’t have gone. Of course she should’ve had a few more years in her, but at least she’d been grown, and in fact nearly five years older than Carpenter himself.
It was different when it was a boy, though it wasn’t new. Carpenter had been full-grown when the war came, and he’d quickly lost track of the boys he’d seen killed before their time. What he’d found, and was today reminded of, was that it didn’t much matter how many he saw.
It never got easier.
He didn’t let Yates have his way; Carpenter knocked him flat with a punch before he could lunge for Al, and planted his boot right on top of his chest, putting his full weight on the other man. Yates couldn’t hope to overcome that, and Carpenter held him down as Murphy and Al looked on in surprise.
“Damn you, Bill,” Yates snarled, trying and failing to get free.
“What are you looking like that for?” Carpenter asked Murphy coldly. “You just kilt his friend. And he couldn’t have been but fifteen.”
“He was already did for by my reckoning,” Al replied, wiping his knife off. He peered down at Yates, who was no longer struggling, but still seething, face bright red. “Is he worth half dead?”
“I can’t recall,” Murphy replied, twirling his rifle idly and trying not to yawn. “Tie him up good.”
“I will. Just as soon as you throw that knife away, Stanford Yates.”
He wouldn’t, though. Carpenter just snatched it off his belt, sheath and all, and tossed it away.
“You should be thanking your friend,” Murphy said to Yates as Al turned him over and started to tie his hands. Yates was still glaring murder at Carpenter. “All he done is save your life. I ain’t heard you was the type to get yourself shot for nothing.”
The third man had picked up the cloth sack, and now he brought it over to Murphy.
“What you got there, Two-Eye?”
That was an odd name for a man, though it was honest enough. He had two eyes, same as everyone else. Murphy took the sack and had a look inside. Scowling, he pulled out one of the rocks inside, and it took him a moment to spot the gold in it. His brows rose.
“I’ll be,” he said. “Our luck’s getting better every day, boys.”
“What was your name?” Al asked, standing in front of Carpenter with his rope.
“Carpenter.”
“Well, Carpenter, I weren’t born yesterday.”
Carpenter sighed and put his hands together correctly to let him tie them. It had been worth a try; it was always worth a try. Of course, he wasn’t sure what he’d do if he could get loose. There were three of them, and it seemed as though none of them was particularly squeamish. They were hunting bounties, but they struck Carpenter as the folks who might be wanted themselves.
It had been nice to have his hands free, if only for a moment. It was funny how he’d gotten to taking that for granted all these years, not being tied up. He’d only been tied up once before, and that had been to take his lashes.
He did not care for it.
Silva stayed quiet through all of it, and that was just as well. He didn’t know what to say, and there was nothing he could say that would improve their circumstances. His anger had broken like a fever, and Carpenter wasn’t sure what that left the other man with. Maybe he was thinking about what lay ahead. There was no bounty on Silva, nor on Carpenter. If they reached a lawman, that could be their safe road away from Antelope Valley and all that went with it.
Yates was another matter. The bounty hunters had known his name, but had they really gotten it from a wanted poster? Wasn’t Yates just Hale’s man in the field? The one he sent around to search for gold to lure more prospectors to Antelope Valley? What else had the bearded man been getting up to?
If he really was in trouble, that would explain his attachment to Antelope Valley, where the sheriff was his old friend and the man who owned the sheriff was his employer.
Yates an outlaw?
This journey held a grain of ho
pe for Carpenter and for Silva, though it wouldn’t be easy. It sounded as though these three had come a fair distance on foot and that there was an even longer trail waiting once they were mounted. Carpenter would have liked to know exactly where they were bound, but it seemed wisest not to ask. Something wasn’t right with the one named Al. Even before he’d so abruptly murdered Rene, Carpenter had known it.
There was something in his eyes, the way he didn’t really look at you. His head was somewhere else, somewhere bad. He was one of those men who was capable of anything, and you’d never know what was coming or when. Murphy seemed a little steadier, and it was hard to know what to make of Two-Eye, who didn’t speak; he just ambled along behind them all, watching.
Murphy and Al could only talk about how they were going to spend the money from the gold and from the bounties for so long, and when that conversation ran out, they turned to taunting their prisoners, mainly Yates.
He just took it, wearing the same face as Silva, but for a different reason. Silva didn’t want these men knowing he was relieved to have changed captors, but Yates had gone through outrage and come out somewhere on the other side. Carpenter didn’t know what wounded the other man more: his pride or his circumstances. Either way, if these bounty hunters let their guard down for even a second, they’d pay for it. Yates hadn’t wanted to be there, wearing the uniform or doing any of it. But when the time came to pull the trigger, he hadn’t thought twice about it.
In fact, Carpenter hadn’t ever known Yates to think twice about anything. The fact that he was walking along now and biding his time without complaint meant that somewhere along the way Carpenter had misjudged him.
That was all right. Carpenter had been wrong before, and he had no doubt he would be again before this was over.
They reached a clear place where the air wasn’t so choked with the scent of pine and they could see the sky. Clouds crowded in mercifully to give a little respite from the sun, but that turned to a light rain that made the world hazy, forcing them to walk closer together. It wasn’t enough not to cause trouble; it was best not to even risk appearing to cause trouble.
The rain was initially refreshing, but once they were all properly wet, it became chilly and irksome. The clouds cleared and the sun returned, turning the air into a moist, choking soup. Every step through that was a struggle, and it was a relief to be back under the cover of the trees.
Carpenter didn’t care to be a prisoner at all, but if there was no helping it, it was better to be the prisoner of a friend. These bounty hunters weren’t inclined to share their stores with their bounties, and they gave only enough water to keep them on their feet. Carpenter had taken Yates’ relative decency as a captor for granted, and that had been a mistake.
Sometimes through the trees, he would see the snowcapped peaks of the mountains, and visions and notions would come to him of how cool and refreshing it would be up there, safe and free. Only it wouldn’t be. Carpenter had never climbed a mountain, but he’d climbed a hill in the snow more than once. It wouldn’t be crisp and lovely up there; it would be cold and lonely. The thought of climbing anything steeper than a step stool was nearly enough to make him give up then and there, though the day’s march was barely half over, but as he had for better than half a century, he kept putting one foot in front of the other.
“Bill,” Yates said, squinting in the glare, “someone has to write to Rene’s ma and pa.”
“Where are they?”
“In Kansas City.”
So Yates still wasn’t lettered. “I’ll take care of it,” Carpenter told him.
“Will you, big boy?” Murphy looked over his shoulder. “All three of you going to hang or be locked up.”
“I can write a letter when I’m locked up,” Carpenter replied.
“Not if you got no fingers,” Al told him, and he had his knife out again, tossing it in the air and catching it.
“True enough.”
Al looked disappointed, as though he’d hoped for a different reply. But he just put a little tobacco in his cheek. Murphy swore as he walked into a spiderweb and pawed it away from his face, and Yates made his play. He drove his boot into Al’s side as the knife spun in the air, sending him headlong into a tree and knocking him senseless.
Murphy whirled, and Yates was there, dealing him a headbutt that sent him crashing to the ground.
But there were three of them, and Yates couldn’t take them all alone. Silva had been caught sleeping; his mind must have wandered as they slogged up and down the canyons, but Carpenter had known this was coming. There had been as much chance of gold raining from the sky as there had of Yates going quietly.
Carpenter turned and rushed at Two-Eye as Yates kicked away Murphy’s rifle, then kicked him hard in the ribs.
The butt of Two-Eye’s rifle, brass plate flashing in the sun, swung so fast that Carpenter could hardly believe it. He saw the stars before he felt the blow and thudded to the ground like a sack of bricks, black and yellow exploding across his vision. Two-Eye didn’t speak or look too smart, but he was awake, and he was quick.
He cocked the rifle and fired; blood flew, and Yates fell into the pine needles.
Two-Eye swiveled the barrel over to Silva, who immediately put aside whatever he’d been planning to do. He was close enough that no one could ever miss him, but not nearly close enough to try something.
For a moment there was something like quiet; the shot was echoing away through the mountains, and the pine needles were floating in the air like dust in a sunbeam.
Al groaned and picked himself up, shaking his head. He blinked and set his gaze on Two-Eye and Silva, then drew himself upright.
“Aw, don’t shoot him,” he said, a touch of regret in his voice. “He ain’t done nothing.” With that, he went to Murphy and rolled him over. “You all right, Murph?”
The fallen man just swore and spat out of a mouthful of blood. And swore some more.
The pine needles were settling, and Al turned on Yates, who was hissing in pain. He leaned over and picked up his knife from the ground, and Yates saw him. He rolled onto his back to look up at him defiantly. His trousers were stained crimson, and the stain was still spreading. He couldn’t fight with his hands tied, let alone with a leg shot.
But Al didn’t use his knife; he just put it back in its sheath.
“Stanford Yates,” he said, shaking his head. He pointed at his own face. “You see this bump you give me? Is it worth three hundred dollars?” He didn’t wait for an answer that wasn’t coming; he just stepped on the wounded man’s leg.
Yates set his jaw and didn’t make a sound.
Coughing, Murphy dragged himself to his feet.
“You’re a quiet one,” Al went on, but he could say anything. Yates wouldn’t give him any satisfaction.
“Is it mortal?” Scowling, Murphy bent gingerly to pick up his hat.
“Can’t say how long he’ll keep. The bleeding don’t look likely to kill him.” Al put more weight onto his boot, earning a grunt from Yates.
Murphy brushed off his hat and set it on his head. He looked at Silva, whose expression had taken on a hollow character. Then at Two-Eye, who still had his rifle at the ready. His gaze came to rest on Carpenter, who lay in the pine needles as though he’d been struck by shot from a cannon.
He pushed away from the tree he’d been leaning on and stumbled over, glancing at Yates, whose teeth were grinding so loudly that they could all hear it over the rustling of the trees.
Carpenter had heard it said that you would always lose a game you didn’t play, but he wasn’t certain that he agreed with the saying, at least not at times like this. Two-Eye didn’t seem bothered by what had happened, but he wasn’t the one in charge.
Murphy looked over his shoulder at Yates, bleeding on the ground under Al’s boot. “He can’t hardly walk now, Al,” he said, annoyed.
; “Well, I feel as though I have a second head,” Al shot back, feeling at his forehead, where indeed he did have a considerable bump. “And I’m still seeing stars, so you will forgive me for being irate,” he added in a snarl, then spit on Yates. “You impatient son of a bitch. What’s it to you to hang in a week or two that you want to die so badly here?”
Murphy hid his feeling better, but he was no less angry.
“I don’t want him to walk,” Al said, indignant. “I think I’ll see to him what he wanted to see to me, stubborn old man. Let’s see how hard that head of yours really is. See how many times it hits that tree.” He pointed meaningfully. “How many times it takes till it ain’t so hard no more.”
“No,” Murphy said tiredly. “His fool head’s still worth money.”
“He can’t walk, Murphy.”
“I know that.” He stared down at Carpenter. “You’re a big enough boy, though. Seeing as our mule’s with the horses, you’ll have to do. Help me, Al.”
Together, they hauled Carpenter upright.
“Just shoot me,” Yates bit out.
“Oh, don’t talk like that,” Murphy said, helping Al lift him up. “We’re gonna save you. Help keep you alive, even after what you done to us. That’s what friends do, Stanford Yates. It’s the Christian thing. Ain’t you never had friends before?”
They draped him over Carpenter’s shoulder and tied his hands in such a way that he couldn’t let go of Yates, even if he wanted to.
“There you are,” Murphy said, spitting again. “You have a ride, and the rest of us still have to walk. Imagine that.”
Yates was too furious to speak. Carpenter opened his mouth only to feel a rope around his neck and a sudden jerk that nearly took him to the ground. Al had just hung the sack of rocks and gold around his neck.
“You carry that for us too,” he said, clapping Carpenter on the shoulder. “What was your name? Bill? That’s our mule’s name too. Seems Old Bill don’t never get tired. I’ll wager you’re just like him, big fella.”