by Neil Hunter
She had ridden a distance from where she had broken away from Brand and McCord. Sure that Brand had not followed. His concern would be McCord. Getting the man to safety and medical help. Which allowed Arling a degree of freedom from pursuit. She did not allow herself to forget the main reason why she was here.
The diamond cache. Too big a prize to give up on. Beth Arling had set her sights on the fortune and was in no way about to quit.
She began to circle her horse around, hoping to pick up Hawkins and the others. They were still a force to be reckoned with. Brand was one man, with the injured McCord to look out for. That made him vulnerable and Arling figured on exploiting that weakness.
Sometime earlier she had picked up on gunfire. It was a distance away and made her wonder who it came from. Had Treece and the others caught up with Brand and McCord? If they had her concern was that McCord might be caught in any crossfire. If he died her scheme to gain control of the diamond cache might be denied her. McCord carried information about the location of the diamonds and Arling needed that information. Too much hung on her holding the diamonds in her hands. The late Luchino Trattori had entrusted her with the knowledge of the diamonds when he had brought her into his fold. Arling was not going to pass up the chance to take control of them, especially now she had gotten so close by kidnapping Frank McCord. He may have escaped for now but with Treece and the others in pursuit victory was still within her grasp.
She dropped back, picking up the way Brand had come, determined to join up with her people. Arling was capable but she also knew she needed the added security of her group around her. Especially Colby Treece. The man was her trusted accomplice. His mere presence made her feel secure. A powerful man, with deadly skills and seemingly without fear, he was at her side in any crisis. Always there when he needed her.
She rode steadily, staying in hiding as much as possible. Using the trees and the undergrowth to camouflage her. Over an hour later she crossed their path, emerging from cover to confront them.
‘I heard shots,’ she said directly. ‘Anyone hurt?’
‘Karp was killed,’ Hawkins said.
‘You know where Brand and McCord are?’
‘Ahead of us by a good distance,’ Treece said. ‘We’re on his trail. Not too close. He’ll know we’re coming. Can’t move in too close while its light. Be a better chance once it gets dark.’ He eased his horse alongside her. ‘How’d you get away?’
‘McCord was giving him problems. Having a hard time staying in the saddle. I managed to ride off when he was dealing with McCord.’
‘Lucky he didn’t shoot you,’ Hawkins said.
‘I risked it. Decided he wouldn’t shoot a woman in the back.’
Treece offered one of his rare smiles. ‘You gambled and it paid off. Don’t be too eager to push him too far next time.’
‘Next time I see him I hope I have a gun in my hand,’ Arling said. ‘We want McCord alive. That’s all. No McCord no cash.’
They moved off into the lowering sky. Clouds were sliding in across the horizon. It seemed a storm was on its way. And the way thing were playing out it would engulf them all…
The rain came in fast, slanting coldly from a slate gray sky that dispersed the previous heat. Brand tugged the rolled slicker from behind McCord’s saddle and dragged it over the man’s shoulders.
‘What about you?’ McCord said. His voice had lost its normal commanding tone.
Brand unfurled his own slicker and shrugged into it.
‘Least this weather is going to wash away our tracks,’ he said.
‘That’s a great comfort.’
‘Knew you’d see the better side of things.’
They stayed inside the spreading tract of timber, using the trees for a degree of cover. Brand didn’t know this country well and was intent on using as much natural protection as he could. The overlap of the trees helped to dispel some of the rain but enough came through to make things uncomfortable for them.
He kept them on a general course that would lead them towards Cabot’s Creek. It was the only township in the immediate area. Brand wanted to reach the place before Arling and her bunch caught up with them. Cabot Creek had a telegraph and a doctor for McCord. Brand was no medical expert but he understood the problems damaged ribs could cause if they weren’t seen to. A broken rib might puncture a lung if it moved under pressure. The blows to McCord’s head weren’t helping either. Either way McCord required attention as soon as possible.
By the time they had all donned the rainwear from behind their saddles they were all soaked through. The condition did little to ease the mood and there was a fair amount of grumbling floating about. Only Treece seemed unaffected. He helped Arling into her slicker before he donned his own.
‘He’s a gentleman,’ Lem Kyle said after hearing his brother’s grousing. ‘Looks after the lady’s comfort.’
‘You think he ain’t considering more than that?’
‘Stan, you got a dirty mind.’
‘Damn right I do when I look at that woman. You figure he already been there?’
That made Lem consider the notion and he was unable to hold back a grin.
‘Got a point, brother.’
‘What the hell you two goin’ on about?’ Cruze said.
‘Family matters,’ Lem said.
‘Well keep your minds on why we’re here. We got that lawdog up ahead an’ I doubt he’s wastin’ notions. We need to stay sharp ’cause Brand is no damn fool.’
‘Mebbe so. Don’t mean I have to like the fact.’
‘Karp found that out the hard way. Just keep it in mind.’
The group settled into a ragged formation, aware now that the sudden downpour was going to make tracking difficult. Within minutes the trail left by Brand and McCord was in danger of being wiped out.
Hawkins riding close to Arling and Treece suggested they have someone ride ahead again.
‘Dammed if I want that sonofabitch to lose us. Send somebody up ahead to spot him.’
‘We already did that,’ Arling said, ‘and look what happened.’
‘If he had ridden back and told us where Brand was we might have been able to catch up to him,’ Arling said. ‘He wasted a chance…and his own life…by trying to handle the man on his own.’
‘No argument from me,’ Hawkins said. ‘Send Ule.’
When Cleve Ule received his orders he simply nodded, his damaged throat still giving him vocal problems.
‘No stupid moves,’ Hawkins said. ‘You spot him you get back here fast. I don’t want you getting yourself shot the way Karp did.’
Ule wheeled his horse about and pushed ahead into the rain. Horse and rider quickly vanished in the downpour.
‘Could be Brand and McCord have found themselves a place to shelter,’ Cruze said. ‘Make it harder for us to find them.’
Arling, hunching her shoulders against the rain, said, ‘No one ever said this was going to be a soft ride. Come on, fellers, you want your money to come easy?’
‘That would be nice,’ Stan Kyle said ‘Real nice.’
Brand found a sheltered spot on a long slope where a rock formation offered protection from the slanting rain. He eased Lady in between massive boulders, tugging on the reins of McCord’s horse. The sloping faces of the rocks sheltered them to a degree, though the smooth stone glistened with runoffs. The dark rainclouds had already dulled the sky and as the first hint of the coming evening lowered the light, Brand realized they were going to need to find a place to shelter. He had no intentions of blundering around in the dark. Like it or not, he was going to have to find shelter for himself and McCord. He took them into the formation, searching for a place they could shelter from the full force of the rain. He found it after a ten minute ride deep into the rock formation. A place where the overarching rocks formed a natural shelter. Underfoot the ground was dry. Little water found its way into the space, large enough to house them all. Brand helped McCord from his saddle and settled him with his back to
a rock face. He removed the slickers they had been wearing.
‘Not what you’re used to. It’s going to have to do for the moment.’
McCord was hugging his ribs, hunched over. He managed to lift his head, looking around with an dulled expression that said he wasn’t even sure where they were.
‘You’ve done this before?
‘Not my first time,’ Brand said, ‘but you know that.’
McCord’s expression seemed to doubt he even understood.
Brand collected canteens from the horses and handed one to McCord. Then he checked their weapons, handguns and rifles, making sure they were all loaded. He placed a rifle and handgun beside McCord. He took the saddlebags from McCord’s horse and went through the pouches. He found a couple of boxes of cartridges. A sheathed knife. Tobacco and papers. A flat bottle of whisky and paper-wrapped beef jerky.
‘A drink,’ McCord said.
Brand handed him the bottle and McCord took a swallow.
‘Not the quality you’ll be used to.’
McCord held out the bottle. ‘Isn’t it?’
Brand took a drink. The whisky was reasonably smooth. When it hit his stomach he realized how hungry he was. Brand unwrapped the jerky and chewed off a piece.
‘You want some?’
McCord shook his head. He leaned back against the rock support, stared at Brand with a distant look in his eyes before he closed them. His reactions told Brand his condition was serious. He crossed to the horses and removed blanket rolls. Shook them out and wrapped them around McCord. The man barely stirred. He was in a bad way. The brutal beating and the damaged ribs were taking their toll.
Brand thought about the negative answers he was getting from McCord. He was no doctor but even he could sense the confusion, the hesitancy in McCord’s responses. It was not like McCord. The man was usually sharp in word and deed. Now he was sinking into a mood of indifference.
Brand recalled something from his own past...
Kwo Han hesitated for a fraction of a second. When he did move it was with a terrible speed and a deadly purpose. He took a short step to one side. His right hand slipped inside the open jacket of his suit, and when he withdrew his hand it was grasping the handle of a small hatchet. Kwo Han moved with the agility he had always possessed, and though it had been many years since he had practiced the art he found he had lost none of his skills.
Only Brand’s acute reflexes warned him of Kwo Han’s attack. Even so he was slow in putting up any kind of defense. In the split-second left to him he pulled his body away from the downward slash of the gleaming blade, believing he had avoided it. Dimly he heard Richard Hunt’s warning yell. By this time he was bringing up his Colt, lining it up on the angry face before him and jerking back on the trigger. His mind was full of the horror conjured up by the sight of that glinting blade, its keen edge already so close. The reflection of the blade against the bright sun hurt his eyes and he saw images flash into view.
Bare sandy beaches and blue water. Green foliage and the rich red of blood. There was a stunning roar of sound—his Colt going off. Kwo Han’s face disintegrating into a bloody mask. And then Brand felt a stunning blow to his skull as the back haft of the hatchet slammed against his skull. Pain exploded inside his head and there was pain so acute it numbed him. He opened his mouth to yell but nothing came out. He knew he was falling. It didn’t seem to stop. He sank into a silent, dark void…and after a while he found it wasn’t so bad after all…he gave up resisting and let the darkness claim him…he didn’t care…it didn’t seem important any more…
…the way he had reacted to a brutal blow to the head from the renegade Chinaman Kwo Han during that final clash on the beach in Yucatan. When Brand had woken his memory had gone, leaving him with a blank mind. It had taken a long time for him to recover and during that time he had no recall of who he was. McCord had not undergone such a savage blow but the beating he had taken might be contributing to his sluggish movements. Affecting his thinking. His hazy actions.
Brand leaned his back against the smooth, chill curve of rock, trying to figure a way out. If it hadn’t been for Arling and the guns backing her Brand could have kept moving. Taking McCord directly to Cabot’s Creek. Sanctuary was what he needed. Time to get McCord medical help. He felt a surge of anger at the way McCord was suffering, brought about by the greed of others.
Beth Arling.
Ty Hawkins.
Treece.
The rest of the gang.
All driven by plain greed. A desire to get their hands on the cache of diamonds that had been catalyst for the whole affair. It wasn’t the first time Brand had found himself under threat because of the sheer lawless desires of people wanting to get their hands on something they saw as theirs. Beth Arling, in her pursuit of what was still out of her reach, had drawn the others into her fantasy. They were committed now. Caught up in the fever of the hunt and determined to see it through.
Frank McCord was the key.
His knowledge of the whereabouts of the diamond cache made him the target of the bunch on their tail. If they were able to force him to talk it would take them that much closer to getting their hands on the diamonds and for such a prize they would not walk away now.
And as far as McCord was concerned Jason Brand would not even contemplate walking away from the man.
Employer.
Head man.
Sometime pain in the butt.
All rolled into one.
Brand glanced at the silent, still figure. Call McCord whatever you liked, it came down to the simple fact you never turned your back on a friend in need. He kept the thought. Held it as he considered his next move. It only took him a short time to reach his decision. It was never in doubt.
Brand had reached an impasse. The one that made up his mind for him. He had no choice. Didn’t even take time to consider it. He had to pull McCord out of the situation. Get him free and take him somewhere he could receive medical help.
That led to the next decision. Not that it took much reaching. To get McCord free and clear meant taking down Arling and her crew if they got in his way. And sitting here in this clutch of rocks was not going to achieve that.
The way was obvious. An easy choice.
Brand had go on the offensive. Not allow them to encircle him and McCord.
He was going after them.
On the hunt…
Darkness enveloped them. Added to the rain traveling became difficult. A risk. Despite their need to find Brand and McCord, even Beth Arling realized the danger and called a reluctant halt. They gathered in a loose group. Shoulders hunched against the downpour.
‘Payoff better be damn worth it,’ Stan Kyle said. ‘Godawful rain.’
Water streamed off the brim of his hat, snaking down under his collar.
‘Quit moaning,’ Cruze said. ‘It’s the same for all of us.’
‘Why don’t you find some wood and build a fire,’ Arling said. ‘Can’t all be wet under the trees. I thought you frontier types could do that easily.’
‘Find some wood. Can’t all be wet,’ Stan said. ‘That’s what the lady said. C’mon, boys, let’s go hunt some kindling.’
Treece edged his horse closer to Arling.
‘Pay them no mind. Stan and Lem are the kind who have to squawk to stay happy.’
‘As long as they do their job I don’t give a damn.’
A half-hour later they were standing around a healthy blaze. Despite the constant grumbling the Kyle brothers gathered a sizable stack of fallen deadwood from the stand of trees. They were determined to justify their status as frontier men to prove Arling wrong. As the rain slackened off the flames grew higher, casting welcome heat.
‘Us poor country boys do have some uses,’ Stan said. ‘Ain’t just city folk with all the brains.’
‘Maybe you’ve earned yourselves a bonus,’ Arling said.
Lem grunted a response as he broke out a battered coffee pot and set to making a brew. The resultant coffee was s
trong and bitter, but it provided them all with hot drinks.
Brand dug into his possibles sack, reaching to the bottom and pulling out a wrapped bundle. When he loosened the rawhide ties and unrolled the bundle he exposed a pair of Apache style n’deh b’keh. The soft, knee-length moccasins had been a gift from his warrior friend, Nante. The dead Apache had offered Brand the footwear as a token of their long friendship. Brand had always carried them with him, though it had been a while since he had worn them. Now they offered him a way to move about silently. They were more suited to the terrain than his hard-soled and heeled boots. Brand tugged off of his boots and drew the moccasins over his socks, tying the fastening around his legs over his levis. Before he put his boots away Brand took out the knife he carried inside one of them and worked it into the similar sheath that had been fashioned on the right leg moccasin.
He thoroughly checked his Winchester and the Colt held firm in its holster by the hammer loop. His second pistol was behind his belt. His gunbelt loops held a selection of cartridges for rifle and handgun.
He checked McCord. The man, wrapped in blankets from both horses and covered by his slicker, offered little response except to stare at Brand. His battered features, still streaked with blood and swollen were the memory Brand would take with him.
‘I have to go now, Frank. You hear me? Have to leave you for a while. Canteens here. And a rifle and handgun if you need them. I’ll get back fast as I can and we can ride on to Cabot’s Creek. Get a doc to look at you.’
McCord fixed his gaze on Brand. The dazed look in them was replaced by the man’s usual resolve.
‘Do what you have to,’ he said. ‘I’ll be here when you get back.’