by Neil Hunter
‘Faced off an Apache been waitin’ until I showed.’
‘Just the one?’
LeRoy nodded. ‘That’s what got me wondering. Apache on his own. Out here. Got me figuring he was waiting for me. Had a crooked leg. Could have been what slowed him and gave me my chance.’
‘That be his left leg?’
‘You know about him?’
‘Name of Crooked Leg. He got the name ’cause of his leg. Got it when he was on a raid against an army patrol. Bad wound that never healed right. His band figured he was no use fighting any more. Last I heard he was trackin’ for a bounty man called Lang. You heard of him?’
LeRoy nodded.
He had heard the name before. The man had a reputation as a skilled man hunter. It appeared Lang was also looking for Teague and Hobbs. Just one more complication for LeRoy to deal with.
Twenty-Four
They were eating beans and bacon from a salted wedge Cole pulled from his supplies. It wasn’t the best meal LeRoy had ever eaten but right then he was too hungry to be fussed. Clearing his plate LeRoy took more coffee.
‘Where your prisoners from?’ Cole said.
‘Landiss. Tried to bust the bank but the town marshal put their horses down.’
‘Bernie Statler,’ Cole said. ‘Him and me been face to face in times past.’
‘Good or bad?’
Cole gave a low chuckle. ‘He runs Landiss pretty tight. Has his rules. Some of ’em can be harsh on a man if he ain’t in Statler’s good books. But he’s a lawmen all said.’ Cole looked in LeRoy’s direction. ‘You got reason to think otherwise?’
LeRoy’s silence was enough to arouse Cole’s interest. ‘Mebbe you know somethin’ I don’t. Don’t need to tell me.’
‘More a feeling than downright knowing.’
‘Damnit, LeRoy, you know how to prod a man’s curiosity.’
‘I kept which way I was taking Teague and Hobbs close. Figured the less anyone knew the better for me.’
‘But you talked it over with Statler.’
‘He knew. There was a bounty on offer.’
‘Money can twist a man’s loyalty. Even a badge toter. Town marshal don’t earn all that much and Bernie Statler is getting old. Piece of a bounty can make a difference. Wouldn’t be the first time a man had his head turned. But I don’t see Bernie takin’ that trail.
LeRoy knew he had little save his intuition. His experience with men and the temptation money could affect them. Right there and then he was running on suspicion. But somehow Munro, Tannen and Riggs had come to find out LeRoy had chosen his way to Yuma. And so too had the lone Apache – the one who it turned out partnered the man called Lang. The bounty man. It could have been no more than a coincidence.
An unlucky turn of events?
Two parties following LeRoy’s trail because each had learned what the US Marshal was doing through sheer coincidence. It could have happened in such a manner. Trouble was LeRoy didn’t have much trust in such events. In his mind such happenstances were very rare. Almost to the point of being highly unlikely.
Something for LeRoy to follow through – after he had caught up with Teague and Hobbs. Not forgetting Tannen. The man had interfered with LeRoy, causing problems and had, by his actions, put him in the hands of the law.
Complications LeRoy could do without.
Cole said, ‘Damn me if you ain’t about to go after em.’
‘My job,’ LeRoy said.
‘Now don’t take offence, but you ain’t in the best condition to do that.’
‘Longer I wait the further away they get.’
LeRoy finished his coffee and climbed stiffly to his feet. The old man was right. Battered and bruised he ached from head to foot. His leg was giving him pain and that wasn’t about to go away.
‘Marshal, you are one stubborn hombre.’
He stood and followed LeRoy as he limped to his tethered horse. Checked his weapons and his trappings. LeRoy collected the canteens from Munro and Riggs’ horses. Extra water he could use.
‘Can you make use of these?’ he said to Cole, gesturing to the pair of animals. ‘Sell them? Trade them?’
‘You sure?’
‘No way I can trail them along with me. I owe you something for your help.’
‘Ain’t no real need but I’m not fool enough to turn an offer down.’
‘Anywhere those three are likely to head for?’
‘Well, if they stay heading west they’ll come across some better country. Desert kind of peters out that way. And there’s allus Gideon. Abandoned town – if you could call it that. Set up ten years back by some German religious group. Something about a bible tract they read about. Was supposed to be a haven they was goin’ to create. On’y thing was the ‘Pache didn’t go for it and eventually wiped ’em out. Place just stood there while the Christer’s turned to bleached bones. Only things left are the dead and the spring nearby. Apaches don’t go near now ’cause they got a thing about dead spirits an’ such. You got problems with the dead, LeRoy?’
‘No, long as I’m not one of them.’
‘Just watch your back, feller.’
LeRoy raised a hand after he climbed awkwardly into the saddle, turning his horse and picked up the line of tracks pointing west. Something told him he was in for an uncomfortable ride with little promise of anything easy at the end.
Twenty-Five
‘That damn lawdog will keep comin,’ Teague said. ‘Won’t quit until he’s dead.’
‘And we ain’t got nothing to stop him,’ Hobbs said. He lifted his shackled hands. ‘Not since we got stuck with these.’
He hunched in his saddle, weary from the heat and dust. Sweat glistened oily on his unshaven face.
‘Mebbe we can find something in that town,’ Tannen said.
They were halted on a rise that looked down on the abandoned town of Gideon. It had been Tannen who had drawn them to it. The town, as such, had declined since being deserted. The few buildings were dilapidated, the land encroaching on them. Out in the desert vegetation had flourished and was creeping gradually around the timber structures. Dust was piling up the walls and the whole place showed an abiding loss.
‘You always been an optimist?’ Teague said.
‘Kept me alive so far.’
Teague managed a dry-lipped smile. ‘Your chances right now are getting’ slimmer every minute. Ain’t like we got much to thank you for. Comin’ after us was not a friendly gesture. I had a gun in my fist it’s more’n likely I’d be plantin’ slugs in you.’
‘I ain’t expecting any brotherly love,’ Tannen said.
Hobbs cackling chuckle was forced from cracked lips. ‘Hell, Homer, I’m gettin’ to like this hombre.’
They eased their weary horses in the direction of Gideon. They left a drifting swirl of raised dust in their wake. When they trailed down the former main street Tannen looked around until he spotted what he was looking got.
‘Here,’ he said.
‘Just another tumbledown building,’ Teague said.
‘It used to be the stable and blacksmith,’ Tannen said. ‘Blacksmith worked with tools. Worked metal. Tools could be still around.’
He climbed awkwardly from his horse. Reached down and loosened the cinch until the saddle slid free. He picked it up and hauled in with him as he made for the blacksmith forge. He foraged around the area, coming up with a short-handled hammer and a chisel, holding them up for Teague and Hobbs to see.
‘You want to give a hand?’
It took them a long time to cut through the chains linking to the saddle horns. Bracing the links on the face of the solid anvil they took turns splitting them, swear pouring from them as they hammered at the metal. Freed from the saddles they repeated the effort on the wrist shackles until they had the bands off and on the ground.
‘Damn,’ Teague said, ‘I was figuring wearing them the rest of my life.’
Their wrists were sore from the shackles and it was a relief when they discovered th
e pump and water trough close by. Working with water from their canteens they got the squealing pump to prime, then watched the water start to pour, allowing it to overflow the trough and clear away the standing water and its covering of dust. Took it in turns to sluice their wrists then soak their heads. By then their horses had been drawn by the water, lowering their heads into the trough and drinking.
Scooping water from the pump Tannen took a drink, stepped aside so Teague and Hobbs could do the same. He watched them, caution on his face as he considered what they might do now they were free.
‘Smart thinking,’ Teague said. ‘Mebbe you could figure out where we might pick up some food.’
‘Hell,’ Tannen said, ‘I ain’t that smart.’
They walked the ridged street, taking note of the buildings and exploring the interiors. When the town had been abandoned it had been left untouched, though the Apaches had stripped it of anything they could lay their hands on. Drifting sand had covered the remains, even sifting in through smashed window and open doors.
From one of the grimed kitchens Teague found a solid bladed cook’s knife. He wiped the blade on his shirt, holding it so they could all see.
‘Guess that makes me top dog,’ he said.
Tannen glanced around the kitchen, his eyes settling on an object the others had missed. He made for it, snatching it from the floor and shook the dust off it.
‘Now lookee here,’ he said gesturing with the wood-handled meat cleaver and managing a smile as he compared it with Teague’s knife. ‘Kind of evens things out I reckon.’
Teague inclined his head as he pushed his knife behind his belt. ‘Guess so’’
‘Let’s not get into a mine’s-bigger-than-yours contest,’ Hobbs said. ‘We’re a ways away from being in the clear yet. Damn sure that lawdog is still trailing us. Don’t forget that hombre is still carrying his guns and he won’t hesitate to use them he gets close enough. He ain’t going to be best pleased we pushed him around back there.’
Teague and Tannen saw the reasoning in Hobbs’ words.
‘Best we move,’ Teague said. ‘Fill our canteens and head out. Make some distance before dark.’
Twenty-Six
The landscape began to change as LeRoy pushed forward, following the scuffed trail left by the three men. He didn’t force the pace, aware of the climate. Hot sun and the drift of dust that rose beneath his horse’s hoofs. He still had water but it wasn’t going to last him forever.
Mid-afternoon found him approaching Gideon and he took some time scanning the area using the glasses from his saddlebags. As he had expected the settlement was little more than a cluster of long-deserted building, close to falling apart. There was no sign of it being inhabited, grass and brush starting to encroach on the bleached, gray buildings. He did see the gleam of water in the trough and pump. If the men he was following had reached Gideon they would have availed themselves of the water before moving on.
He sat for a while studying the scene before taking his horse in. Gideon looked deserted. Empty. But LeRoy didn’t allow himself to be lulled into a careless frame of mind. As far as he was aware they had no arms but there always the chance they might have laid their hands on some kind of weapons and were maybe waiting for him to show. It was an easy mistake to make figuring the three were no threat. Too many men had died under that assumption.
Near silence except for the faint, but ever present, soft sound of the desert wind. LeRoy heard it disturb some loose piece of timber. Making its presence known by the way it tugged at brush that had drifted against the sides of the buildings.
LeRoy scanned in each direction, eyes picking at shadows. The flicker of light between gaps in the creaking walls. He unconsciously checked his weapons. Touched his Colt pistol, the solid presence of the rifle in his right hand. The sheathed knife on his belt’s left side. All done without taking his gaze from the what lay around him.
He recognized the open aspect of the blacksmith’s forge. The abandoned accoutrements. And the dulled shapes of the shackles that had been removed and cast aside.
His three fugitives had managed that much at least. LeRoy saw the discarded hammer and the chisel they had used to free themselves. Links in the chains showed fresh marks that told LeRoy they had been cut recently. It added a level of concern now they were no longer connected to their restraints. LeRoy admitted that. Unarmed except for what they might have salvaged from the ruins the trio had become even more of a threat now.
He led his horse to the trough, worked the handle to create a fresh flow from the dripping pump. While his horse drank eagerly LeRoy ducked his head under the water gushing from the pump. He allowed it to flush away the grit, cooling him briefly. He refreshed his canteens and rehung them, then dragged his reluctant horse from the water before it swallowed too much. It swung its head eyeing him stoically.
‘Don’t be greedy, son. You’ll end up with belly cramps.’
He gathered the reins and pulled the horse from the trough. He picked up on the tracks leading away from Gideon.
The chase was far from over.
LeRoy climbed into his saddle, rifle laid across his front as he took up the pursuit.
Twenty-Seven
Lang found the fly ridden bodies of Munro and Riggs close by the cabin. He had walked around, checking the area. Examined the bodies and found the tracks eventually leading away. That would be LeRoy. The lawman was living up to his reputation and Lang respected him for that.
Lang had also spotted the tracks left by Barnabus Cole and his pack horses heading in the opposite direction. He pondered on their presence, deciding they were nothing he needed to worry about.
Alvin LeRoy, dogged and relentless, was still looking for his prisoners. From the tales he had picked up about the Marshal most of them were proving to be true. LeRoy never quit. His persistence was becoming legend. Get Alvin LeRoy on you trail a man might well simply hand himself in and get it done. The lawman just never gave up.
The fact didn’t deter Lang. He was like minded himself. Persistent. His intent always fixed on completing whatever he chose to do. Right now he was seeking Homer Teague and Rubin Hobbs. His quarry with a substantial bounty on their heads. Lang was not about to forgo his bounty. The hell with US Marshal Alvin LeRoy. If the man got in Lang’s way he would be dealt with. Removing LeRoy would happen not worry him in the slightest. He was in truth a rival and would be treated as such. LeRoy might wear a badge but as far as Lang was concerned he was no different than himself. They both hunted men. LeRoy justified himself by claiming he was doing it for the law. He still got paid so as far as Lang was concerned he was still a bounty hunter and that meant he was fair game.
There was a fine line between lawman and bounty hunter. One because he was carrying out his duty – the other riding for mercenary reasons. In the end they both sought to bring lawbreakers in to pay for their crimes. In Lang’s eyes there was a thin line between the two professions.
Bounty men were a special breed. Men who stood apart, often derided for what they did. Lang had never met any of them because they were by nature solitary figures. Their profession decreed they were loners. Men who rode apart from others. Lang had heard of one in particular, a man who was spoken of in hushed tones. He was considered by others as one of the best – if not the best. His reputation spoke for itself. He was known as The Stalker. His given name was Bodie. A hard man devoted to his trade. Lang would have liked to meet him. Simply out of curiosity as one hunter to another.
For himself he had made his deal with Lawrence Machin and nothing was to get in the way of that.
He fell in line with the tracks. Watched the sky as he rode, seeing the drift of dark clouds ahead. There was rain in the offing. And a few hours of daylight left. He didn’t figure he would catch up with LeRoy before dark. The way the tracks were leading they would eventually cross onto the way that led to less harsh country. A rise in the landscape. Rocky outcroppings with brush and timber. Lang knew there was an abandoned settlemen
t ahead. Long abandoned. Maybe a refuge for Teague and Hobbs. If that was the case LeRoy would head for the same place.
He recalled the name of the place.
Gideon.
That was it. Built by some religious group and finally wiped out by the Apaches. The Christer’s faith had been sorely tested and had failed to protect them when the hostile Indians had struck. Gideon had been left a deserted shell, the land moving in to regain possession of the former settlement.
Lang rode with his head lowered against the drifting, fine dust whipped up by the constant wind. He and his horse were coated with the stuff. It clung like a silent oppressor, leaving them both as pale as phantoms. The strength of the wind varied from a slight breeze that could change without notice to a powerful gust. It was the reason the sand changed shape with time, removing tracks and altering the contours of the land.
He had been following the fading trail and came upon Gideon in the late afternoon. He saw immediately that the place was deserted. His quarry had visited long enough to cut off the shackles they wore at the blacksmith. Lang inspected more tracks as the trio had wandered around the settlement before mounting up and riding out. He refreshed himself at the water trough, refilling his canteens as his horse drank.
He didn’t fail to see the single line of tracks that followed the three riders.
That would be LeRoy. US Marshal Alvin LeRoy.
The lawman who refused to let go.
Lang fell in behind LeRoy’s trail, determined to catch up. Too much depended on him locating LeRoy and removing him from the chase.
Twenty-Eight
The rain storm hit close on darkness descending. It came hard, a ferocious downpour that dropped out of the twilight and hammered at the land and the men crossing it. The bare, dusty terrain was transformed into a quagmire. Dry runoffs were suddenly roiling watercourses. Gullies and dry washes brimmed with brown liquid that foamed and boiled as gallons of water surged along them.
