LeRoy, U.S. Marshal 3

by Neil Hunter

  ‘Closest town of sorts is twenty miles north of here. My place is closer. I got a spread and one of my men knows doctoring. You’re welcome to ride back with me.’

  Hobbs made a groaning sound and slid further over in his saddle. The newcomer eased his horse forward to offer help. As he passed around him Teague slid the knife out of his belt. He didn’t hesitate as he leaned across his horse and thrust the knife into the man’s lower back, repeating the blow a number of times and pushing it in deep. The man gave a low moan, arching back in the saddle and Teague used the opportunity to punch the already bloody knife into the man’s exposed neck. There was no grace in his attack. Simply brutal blows intended to deliver the maximum damage. His right hand became slick with the blood pumping from the collection of wounds before the stricken man slid soundlessly from his saddle and thudded to the dusty ground, jerking and twitching as he died.

  Hobbs had a sly smile on his dusty face as he straightened in his saddle.

  ‘Damn, Homer, you sure cut him a streak there.’

  ‘Ain’t no time for fancy work when it comes to killin’ a man.’

  They eased down off their horses and went immediately to the dead man’s horse. Hobbs slid the cared for Henry repeater from the saddle boot, running his hands over the metal and wood. Teague had pulled out the long barreled Colt .45, checking the loads in the cylinder.

  ‘I feel better already,’ he said.

  They checked the saddlebags strapped to the horse and found extra ammunition for both weapons. There was food in the form of cooked chicken and beef. They helped themselves first before drinking from the man’s canteens. There was a bottle of whisky in one pouch.

  ‘This feller is like a travelling store,’ Hobbs said.

  ‘And a bank as well,’ Teague said. He withdrew a leather wallet holding a thick wedge of banknotes. ‘Motherload. Either this feller was on his way to bank this. Likely he just sold something. Cattle mebbe.’

  Hobbs took a swallow of the whisky, letting it slide down his throat. ‘Homer, you take a swill here. This is some good stuff.’

  ‘Oh yes,’ Teague said. ‘You are not wrong, partner.’

  He passed the bottle back to Hobbs and knelt beside the man, unbuckling the gunbelt and sliding it from the body. He strapped it on, adjusting the fit. He dropped the Colt into the holster.

  ‘Damn but I really feel dressed again.’

  He eyed the black horse. Took up the dangling reins and ran a hand over the horse’s sleek neck. Hobbs was watching him, a glint of envy in his eyes.

  ‘You having that as well?’

  ‘I reckon so.’

  Hobbs nodded. ‘I guess you are.’

  ‘Hey, I’ll let you ride him some time.’

  ‘Well at least I get something out of the deal.’

  ‘Here, you carry the money,’ Teague said. He handed the wallet to Hobbs. ‘At least we made up for not getting anything from the bank in Landiss.

  That mollified Hobbs.

  They soaked their bandanas with water from the canteens the black was carrying and washed their faces and necks as best they could. Using the dead man’s hat they gave water to the horses. Teague stripped of the trappings from his horse and set it free with a slap of his hand.

  Hobbs found a rolled bunch of cigars in the dead man’s saddlebags and they took time to light up. After a half hour they mounted up and turned their horses west.

  Neither of them had forgotten about Alvin LeRoy. He was still behind them.

  Still coming.

  Sooner or later he was going to close in, but they were armed now, and neither of them were going quit easy.

  It might have been the one thing they had in common.

  The resolve not to give in.

  Thirty-Two

  The dead man’s name was Martin Jeffords. LeRoy found papers is his pocket that identified him. It was a bill of sale for a herd of cattle that Jeffords had recently sold from his range. He stood looking down at the corpse, taking in the bloody knife wounds. Evidence of a savage attack on the man.

  The sun was starting to set as LeRoy looked the scene over. Where the man called Jeffords had ridden in and met Teague and Hobbs. He read the signs of a scuffle that resulted in Jeffords being struck down. Dark stains where his blood had been spilt to soak into the dry dust. Hoof prints of two horses in addition to the one that had been ridden by Jeffords. It had been the lone horse running free that had drawn LeRoy to the spot where Jeffords lay. Now he looked the body over, noting the lack of a weapon around Jeffords’ waist, figuring that whoever had killed the man had taken his weapon. No man who lived in this wild, dangerous part of the country rode without an available weapon. A discarded saddle and other trappings where one of the horses ridden by the fugitives had been set free lay close by.

  ‘This won’t go unpunished, Mr. Jeffords,’ LeRoy said. He meant every word.

  It was not a hard task for LeRoy to find the trail left by Teague and Hobbs as they rode west. He rode in that direction until it became too dark. Once again he made cold camp. No fire meant no coffee. LeRoy wondered how long it might be before tasted it again. He chose a reasonably comfortable spot in amongst the rocks and trees that dotted the area. Picketed his horse and gave it water. At least the animal had some coarse grass to ingest while LeRoy unsaddled and used his saddle as a pillow, wrapping his blankets around him and settled won. Or at least tried to. He was still sore and aching from his recent entanglement with Tannen. That and the other injuries had left LeRoy in a vulnerable state. The rest he longed for was going to have to wait. He had Teague and Hobbs to catch and subdue before that would happen, and the way things were moving – so slowly – he didn’t even dare guess when that might be.

  LeRoy woke as first light streaked the sky. He lay for a time, body aching and stiff. It had been a long, cold night and he had slept in fitful discomfort.

  This was not the way it should be, he decided.

  He stumbled upright. Began to slowly move around to loosen his taut stiffness. Aching in every joint and muscle was a truism right then. LeRoy spent long minutes easing away the lethargy threatening to incapacitate him.

  His tethered horse raised its head from cropping at the grass, watched him for a minute then returned to its leisurely grazing.

  LeRoy hauled his saddle from the ground and managed to swing into place. He cinched it tight, found the remainder of the jerky in his saddle bag and ate. He drank from one of his canteens, then watered the horse.

  ‘Sorry this is taking longer than I’d hoped, son’ he said, wondering why he was talking to his horse. The utter silence of the desolate country must have been getting to him he figured.

  LeRoy dragged himself into the saddle, took up his reins and moved off. He regretted not having been able to bury the body but it would have been too much of an effort in his condition and he figured the land would do the job for him in its own way.

  His concern was for Teague and Hobbs. They had proved their lack of worth with the killing of the man called Martin Jeffords. He had provided them with the means to carry on leaving the territory. The callous destroying of a life to justify their existence. It had been bad enough what they had done in Landiss. This fresh crime took them beyond redemption in LeRoy’s eyes.

  He would find them.

  And he would make them pay for what they had just done. If he had to crawl on hands and knees he would track them down and do what needed to be done.

  Thirty-Three

  Lang found the body close to mid-morning. He sat his horse and set in his mind what had happened, then picked up the hours’ old tracks left by LeRoy.

  He wasn’t an overly vengeful man but working out what Teague and Hobbs had done to Jeffords left him cold. The pair were determined to escape capture and it appeared there was little they wouldn’t do to stay free.

  He took time to refresh himself from his canteen, then offered water to his horse. If anything the day was hotter than the previous one. The unrelenting heat bore
down on him, making him sweat and he had to splash water on his unshaven face to remove the dust there. The sun seemed to pulse in the wide, cloudless sky. Never ending and ever increasing in its intensity. There was no escape.

  He gigged his horse into motion again and sensed its reluctance. Staring ahead he saw the shimmering heat waves. The occasional swirl of a distant dust devil caused by the soft wind that never seemed to drop.

  Lan patted his horse’s neck.

  ‘Hell of place,’ he said. ‘Sooner we get this done the better I’ll like it.’

  Inwardly he was thinking about US Marshal Alvin LeRoy. When he caught up with Teague and Hobbs the lawman was going to be between him and his quarry. That posed the question – how did Lang resolve that? LeRoy was not going to step aside from his sworn duty to keep his hands on the prisoners. Which would go against Lang’s own need to hand them over to Lawrence Machin and collect his bounty.

  It was an unpredictable matter that was going to come to a head sooner and later. It did but not in the way Lang might have imagined

  Bounty hunter against lawman.

  An unenviable position for the men involved.

  Lang couldn’t see it being resolved peacefully. Neither man was going to back down. There was no likelihood of a compromise.

  For himself no giving up his position. And LeRoy would be in the same frame of mind.

  Why the hell had LeRoy needed to get in the way?

  Lang knew the answer and also knew how he might need to settle it.

  Thirty-Four

  LeRoy spotted the pair of riders in the far distance. He took the time to pull his glasses from his saddlebag and focused in on the slow-moving men on horseback. A drift of dust marked their passing, hanging in the air behind them. LeRoy recognized Teague and Hobbs. They slumped over in their saddles, bodies hunched forward, hands limp as they held the reins.

  Close by was a growth of thin cottonwoods and a spread of brush. The trees and brush were abundant and LeRoy figured they had to be growing near a water course. The pair of riders had angled in towards the spot and he turned his horse in the same direction.

  LeRoy felt little excitement over the fact he had them in sight. No sense of achievement that he had his men. He was in as bad a condition as they were. Likely even more. He felt abused mentally and physically, close to being sorry for himself. It was a new experience. Something he didn’t enjoy.

  LeRoy put away the glasses and hauled his rifle from the sheath. The weapon felt heavy in his hands. Hot from the sun as he checked the action. When he raised the rifle it dragged against his muscles.

  He became aware of a dampness against his pants where the thigh wound had started to bleed again from the constant jostling of riding. There wasn’t much he could do about it he decided. No chance of refreshing the bandage Barnabus Cole had bound over the wound. As with the other scrapes and bruises he had suffered right now LeRoy would have to put up with them. He scrubbed a hand over the itchy stubble on his face. He felt a mess and knew he would look just so. Dirty skin and filthy clothes. Right now they came with the territory and he would have to endure the discomfort.

  The landscape was changing around him. The previous slope giving way to an uneven stretch dominated by tangled brush and Saguaro cactus. The tall, ungainly growths spanned the area, the outstretched arms offering alien outlines. Under his horse’s hoofs broken splinters of rocks dotted the surface. Here in the open expanse the drifting wind threw dusty flurries. Gritty detritus rattling and pattering, breaking what might have been a silent place otherwise.

  The larger boulders dropped behind, their cover disappearing and LeRoy became aware his previous cover was quickly vanishing and he would find himself exposed.

  He urged his horse forward, wanting to close the gap between him and the fugitives. Things were changing fast now and LeRoy didn’t want to lose any advantage he might still have. There was not going to be the chance of riding in close and surprising the pair.

  No cover to conceal him.

  LeRoy had to take his chance and ride in fast.

  He didn’t know whether sound gave him away. Or sheer bad luck intervened but one of the riders hauled in on his reins and threw a glance over his shoulders.

  LeRoy recognized Rubin Hobbs.

  The man fixed his gaze on the rider bearing down on them, gave a yell and threw up the rifle he was carrying. The shot cracked into the silence. The slug was way off target. Hobbs fired again and LeRoy felt the second shot burn the air too close for comfort. He brought his own weapon up to his shoulder and returned fire. He knew as he pulled the trigger his shot would miss, but it had the effect of causing Hobbs to rear back in his saddle and jerk his own rifle aside.

  LeRoy took his reins in both hands and pulled back, bringing his mount to a halt. With a steadier grip on his weapon he snapped it to his shoulder, aimed and fired, saw Hobbs topple sideways. Even heard the man’s gasp as he took the 44-40 slug in his left shoulder. There was a frantic moment as Hobbs tried to stay in his saddle but he had already slipped out of control and fell. He landed on his left side, the impact drawing a harsh scream as his bullet-shattered shoulder took the brunt of the fall. Hobbs let go of his rifle, clutching at his bloody shoulder as he dropped to the dust.

  LeRoy kept moving. He saw Teague lift his right arm, the pistol in his hand settling on his intended target. It proved that Teague was a better shot with the handgun.

  LeRoy saw the bloom of flame and the wreath of smoke. He twisted in the saddle. Felt the impact as the slug slammed into the flesh below his left shoulder. He managed to keep his grip on the rifle and returned fire but his aim was slack and his slug was way off the mark. He worked the lever, ignoring the dull spread of pain from his wound, dragged the suddenly heavy rifle to waist level and loosed off three close shots. The hard crackle of fire startled his own horse and it scrabbled backwards, unseating LeRoy. He felt himself falling and threw out a hand to break it. He slammed to the ground, pain erupting. He forced himself to move, coming partway upright and saw Teague, two-handing his pistol as he settled the muzzle. There were already a pair of bloody patches on his body where LeRoy’s slugs hand landed but the man refused to go down and his pistol snapped out another shot that caught LeRoy across the side of his skull. The impact pushed LeRoy off his feet, the ground coming up at him and driving the breath from his body as he fell. Noise filled his head. Dizziness engulfed him and LeRoy felt the day go dark around him.

  Thirty-Five

  Lang picked up on the distant shots. Spurred his horse forward, searching the distant terrain. He knew LeRoy had found his men. The gunfire was short and sharp. Rifles and a handgun. Then a long silence. It told him LeRoy had caught up to Teague and Hobbs.

  He made out the riders. Saw two men down. The third man was still in his saddle, leaning loosely forward as his horse slow walked forward, his Colt in his right hand pointing at one of the men on the ground.

  Lang figured the man being targeted was LeRoy. He was lying still, a bloody wound in his head.

  Dead? Or near to it, Lang guessed.

  Now he was close Lang felt a moment of regret he hadn’t been able to face down the lawman himself. Despite his earlier feelings directed towards LeRoy, he experienced a moment of admiration for the man. LeRoy had doggedly trailed the fugitives. Had pushed on through hard terrain, been wounded, yet had still kept coming. He had refused to quit. To back down. And even up to the end he had maintained his stance.

  A soft moan drew Lang’s attention and he saw Homer Teague, his gun aiming at LeRoy, attempting to draw down on the lawman.

  ‘Put it away, Teague,’ Lang said, putting his rifle on the man. ‘End of the line.’

  ‘The hell with you,’ Teague said. His voice was low, ragged and he drew harsh breathes as he spoke. Blood ran from his mouth, stained the front of his filthy shirt. ‘I aim to put that lawdog out of his misery. Son of a bitch has been on my tail long enough.’

  ‘Time for this to end all right,’ Lang said
, ‘but I ain’t about to allow you to put this man down like a crippled hound. Now drop that gun or I will blow you out of that saddle, mister.’

  ‘You figure it makes any difference now? LeRoy put two bullets in me. I took my punishment an’ I got to have my reckoning with him...’

  Lang aimed directly at Teague’s head. ‘Your choice, friend. I come to take you back to Lawrence Machin. He wants to see your face before he settles things. Don’t make much difference to me if you’re dead or alive. I still get my pay long as I finish you.’

  Teague’s response was to scream his defiance as he willed himself to put his gun on LeRoy.

  ‘Goddamn you, Lang, I come too far to let you...’

  Lang could have sworn he saw Teague’s trigger finger turn white with pressure as he made his move.

  The bounty man’s rifle lifted a fraction as he fired, putting his shot directly over Teague’s heart. The impact tipped Teague backwards and he rolled slowly from his saddle, falling and hitting the ground face down. As he landed his revolver fired, the slug plowing into the dirt.

  ‘Couldn’t let it lay,’ Lang said.

  ‘Homer...’ Hobbs’s call was almost plaintive. A weary sound that escaped his lips as he watched his partner die.

  Lang eased from his saddle. He sheathed his rifle and took out his handgun as he stood over Teague. He kicked the man’s fallen pistol aside, turned the body over to make certain Teague was dead. Then he crossed to where LeRoy lay, crouching beside him and realized with some surprise that the man was still alive. Breathing shallowly, blood still oozing from the ragged wound in his head.

  But damned if he wasn’t still living.

  ‘LeRoy, what is it going to take to kill you?’

  A groan from Hobbs drew Lang to his feet. He crossed to where the bloodied figure lay and moved the discarded rifle away from the man.