by B. S. Dunn
Hennessy shrugged. ‘The owner won’t be needing it.’
‘The owner?’
‘Cody Morris.’
Curtis’ next action gave the livery man reason to pause. He went around the animal and started to check its shoes. The third one was the one he sought. It had the nick in it. ‘Son of a bitch.’
He now knew who’d killed Morris. But how in hell was he going to tell Beth?
‘What was that?’ asked Hennessy.
‘I said thanks for the horse.’
‘Be careful out there,’ he warned Curtis. ‘I got me a feeling that something ain’t right.’
‘I’ve had that same feeling ever since I got here,’ Curtis murmured. ‘Tell me, are Vince and Andrews in town?’
‘Vince is. Ain’t seen Andrews.’
‘Thanks.’
‘You think Andrews is the man you’re looking for?’
Curtis swung up on to the horse. ‘I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.’
He rode out of the livery stable via the back door in order to remain unseen. But he was seen.
Hennessy had just returned to his chores when Vince appeared. He stared up at the livery man and gave him a cruel smile. Horror at the realization of what it meant, suddenly etched itself on the face of the man in the loft. Vince said, ‘It’s time me and you had a talk.’
Chapter 13
‘He’s gone,’ Reynolds said with an air of calmness.
‘What?’ Brotherton snapped.
‘I said, he’s gone.’
‘Who?’
‘Curtis, of course.’
‘How the hell did he get out?’ Brotherton snarled.
‘I don’t know.’
‘I told you to kill him.’
‘I might have to yet.’
Brotherton shook his head. ‘No, you will. Enough is enough. I want him shot on sight. Got it?’
Reynolds remained silent.
‘Got it?’ Brotherton asked again with more emphasis.
‘Yeah. Got it. Don’t push me.’
‘While I’m paying you, Reynolds, I’ll push as hard as I damned well please.’
Reynolds turned away and began to walk out.
‘Where in hell are you going?’ Brotherton snapped.
Reynolds didn’t bother to look back. ‘To find Curtis.’
Curtis surveyed the scene before him and cursed softly under his breath. Everywhere he looked there were blackened piles of charred timber. Every shred of their hard work had been destroyed in what would seem to be a blink of an eye. Well, someone would pay.
He scouted the yard for sign and found a lot of it. The most disturbing was the darkened patch where Lester had lain bleeding.
There were three riders and they’d headed west towards the mountains. Obviously one of them was riding double. He stared in the direction that the riders had taken and saw the grey-faced peak surrounded by endless tracts of pine. He turned and walked back towards the horse which stood ground-hitched in the centre of the yard.
Curtis was about to swing into the saddle when the snap and hiss of a bullet passed close to his head followed by the whiplash of a rifle. He reeled away from the horse, taking the Yellow Boy from the saddle scabbard.
Hands worked fast as Curtis levered a round into the breech of the Winchester. He ran across to the water trough as several bullets chased him. Small geysers of dirt kicked up around Curtis’ feet. He dived behind the trough just as a slug buried deep into its thick timber side.
While the echoes of the shots rolled away across the landscape, a voice called out. ‘It’s just you and me, amigo!’
Vince!
‘The time has come for the end of El Tigre!’
‘You think you’re good enough, Vince?’
‘Sure do.’
‘You’ve made a piss poor effort of it so far. You had a clean shot and you missed. What happened? The shakes get to you?’
Another shot rang out. This one more from frustration than anything else. Curtis still couldn’t work out how the hired gun had managed to get so close. He figured that Vince must have seen him ride out of town. Another bullet smashed into the side of the trough.
Curtis eased around the end of his scant wooden cover, trying to get a line on Vince’s position. Another gunshot told Curtis that he was just outside the yard behind a clump of rocks. Beyond that was the tree line, and he figured that the killer had used them to gain proximity without being noticed.
The Yellow Boy came forward and Curtis fired a shot off at the rocks. He saw the puff of stone chips from the bullet strike. Then he waited, but not for long. Vince’s black hat appeared slowly above the rock and Curtis sent another .44 Henry slug in his direction.
The hat seemed to flip in the air and disappeared. The top of Vince’s head was now exposed, but by the time Curtis was ready to fire another shot it was gone.
‘Damn!’ Curtis shouted. ‘Almost had you then, Vince. Maybe should have lowered my aim half an inch.’
When no answer came, he turned his head and tried to find a way out of his predicament. They could both remain behind cover until the cows came home, but nothing would be accomplished by that, except stalling Curtis from getting on with his hunt.
Directly behind him was the rubble of the barn. He seemed to be out of other options. Curtis got down on his belly and crawled towards the blackened debris. When he reached it he realized that to go around it, he would be exposed to Vince’s position.
He drew in a breath and started forward, straight into the ash and burnt remains. The fine black ash dust clung to everything it touched, and he was soon coated in a layer of the stuff from head to foot. It got up his nose, in his mouth and eyes. Some sections forced him to rise marginally to make his way over them and under others. But once he was safely through, he was totally unrecognizable.
On the other side, he paused to wipe away most of the ash and grit from the rifle. He only hoped that it would still fire.
Rising into a crouch, he was about to move when a shot came and a piece of charred wood beside him exploded in a spray of black splinters.
‘Damn it!’ Curtis cursed. More shots. He was pinned down. ‘Well done, idiot.’
He looked up at the sun. Perhaps three more hours of daylight left. It was going to be a long wait.
‘Who’s got the woman, Vince?’
‘Why do you think I’d tell you, Curtis?’
‘I just thought that since you’re so convinced you’re going to kill me, you might as well tell me.’
A laugh reached his ears. ‘Maybe I’ll let you die wondering.’
‘So, where did you take her?’
‘I didn’t take her anywhere. Maybe she’s under all that mess of the house.’
‘Did Andrews take her to Brotherton?’
‘No.’
Curtis smiled. ‘So, Andrews did take her?’
There was a pause and Curtis thought that Vince’s silence was him admonishing himself for his mistake. ‘I didn’t say that.’
‘Nope, you didn’t.’
Silence descended and no more was said. Curtis lay there thinking about Mary-Alice and Lester. Also, of Beth Morris and what had driven Reynolds to become the man he was.
Then a sound reached his ears. Hoofbeats. Curtis frowned. Coming or going?
Going.
With caution, he rose to his knees and peered over the pile of rubble in front of him.
Nothing happened.
Curtis climbed to his feet, the Yellow Boy ready in his grasp. He braced himself for the whiplash of Vince’s gun but everthing remained silent.
‘Run away, did you?’ Curtis murmured. ‘Well, you’ll keep. First I’ve got to get the woman back.’
Following the trail until he could see no more, he then made a small fire to camp by. He would continue the following morning. With any luck, Mary-Alice would still be alive when he found them. After all, if they wanted her dead, they would have killed her at the house. Which meant they wanted something from her.
Hopefully, he would find her before that happened.
Beside the campfire that night, the nightmare came back. He’d not had it for a long time. Thought it gone. Obviously, it hadn’t.
El Tigre’s hand clamped down over Nita’s mouth and he whispered harshly in her ear. ‘Keep quiet. There are soldiers outside!’
Her eyes widened in the moonlight which flooded through the adobe building. His hand released, and she whispered, ‘How did they find you were here in Zamora?’
El Tigre shook his head. ‘I don’t know.’
Nita’s voice grew cold. ‘You were betrayed.’
‘Most probably.’
‘Where is Emilio?’ she asked, thinking of their son.
‘He is still asleep in his crib,’ El Tigre assured her. ‘I have to go out there.’
Nita grasped his arm. ‘No. You can’t. They will kill you.’
‘And they will kill you and Emilio if I don’t.’
He rose from the bed and started to cross towards the door of the one-roomed adobe house they shared.
‘Wait!’ Nita snapped. ‘I am your wife.’
‘It has to be, Nita. For you and Emilio.’
The door swung open and El Tigre stepped through and out into the moonlit yard. ‘I believe you are looking for me?’
A voice said, ‘Sí.’
‘Well, here I am.’
‘You are El Tigre?’
‘I am.’
‘Where is your woman?’
‘She has nothing to do with this.’
‘I will be the judge of that,’ the man said.
‘I am here,’ Nita said and stepped up beside her husband.
El Tigre’s anger flared. ‘Go back inside, damn it.’
‘I belong with you.’
‘You belong with our son. Go!’
She made to turn away when the officer in charge stopped her. ‘Wait!’
El Tigre stepped in front of her. ‘She has nothing to do with this. Let her be.’
‘She is your wife. She has everything to do with this.’
‘I said let her be, damn you!’
Suddenly Emilio’s high-pitched cries sounded from inside. Nita said, ‘I must go to my child.’
The officer’s voice was emotionless. ‘No, we will take care of him.’
Nita’s blood ran cold as she realized what they intended to do. Her husband’s voice cut through the air. ‘Nita! Run! Get Emilio.’
El Tigre charged the horses to give his wife the precious time she needed to get inside to their son. But when the guns began to bark, she only made it as far as the door before she was cut down by four bullets.
‘No!’ El Tigre screamed. ‘No!’
‘No! Nita!’ Curtis cried out, and sat up abruptly in his blankets.
Sweat was beaded on his brow and his heart raced with the sudden anxiety of the nightmare. The soldiers had killed his wife and son. They’d shot him down where he stood. But they’d forgotten to check that El Tigre was dead.
The people of Zamora had found him to be alive and nursed him back to health. And after he’d put flowers on the grave of his wife and infant son, the Tiger had bared his teeth in spectacular fashion.
Curtis had gathered men around him from both sides of the border. Some from the war who’d fought for money, and peons who’d fought for their freedom. When he had amassed enough, he set them against the garrison where the man responsible for the deaths of his wife and child accommodated himself. By the time it was over, the garrison had been wiped out.
He’d never allowed himself to love a woman since.
Curtis fingered the puckered scars beneath his shirt. There were three of them. By some miracle, none of the bullets had struck anything vital.
He still blamed himself for Nita and Emilio’s deaths.
Somewhere in the distance, Curtis heard a wolf howl. He laid back down and closed his eyes. Sleep was a long time coming.
Curtis was up just before the sun the following morning, and in the saddle shortly thereafter. He picked up the trail straightaway and followed its undeviating path towards the mountain.
The narrow path wound its way through the timber, climbing steadily, then dropping every now and then. It crossed a couple of mountain streams and through a large green meadow lit by bright sunlight. Eventually, about mid-morning, a cabin appeared, and Curtis knew with certainty that this was where he would find them.
He dismounted, stayed in the trees, and circled the cabin until he was behind it. There he could see the three horses in a makeshift corral. Curtis checked to see that there was a round under the hammer of the Yellow Boy. He was about to approach the cabin when a man appeared.
Brooks hurried around the corral and turned so his back was facing Curtis. Then he dropped his pants, revealing the stark white skin of his rump. He squatted down to do his business, which gave Curtis time to move in.
Brooks was still squatting when Curtis hit him with the stock of the Yellow Boy. With a grunt the man fell forward. ‘Hate to be you when you wake up. At least you’ll still be alive.’
He kept moving along the side of the rough-hewn cabin, stepping over weeds and rocks, and paused outside the window. From inside he heard a voice say, ‘Have you changed your mind yet?’
‘No,’ Mary-Alice answered.
‘I guess I’m going about this the wrong way, then,’ the man said, and Curtis heard the crack as Mary-Alice’s face was slapped, followed by a choked gasp. Two more cracks came in quick succession.
Curtis gripped the Yellow Boy hard and his knuckles whitened. He ducked beneath the window and slipped around to the front of the cabin. He thumbed back the hammer of the Winchester and kicked the door with his boot, hard!
The door flew back on its hinges with a crash. Curtis stormed through the opening and brought up his gun on the first of the two startled men. The Yellow Boy roared impossibly loud in the confines of the small cabin, and Kent was hit hard in the chest with the .44 Henry slug. He was flung backwards, but tried desperately to keep his feet, before his legs gave out underneath him.
Kent collapsed, and Curtis worked the lever on the Yellow Boy and switched his aim. Still in shock, Andrews hadn’t even reacted. He realized it was too late and raised his hands.
‘I guess you got me,’ he said, his tone laconic.
With a nod of his head, Curtis said, ‘I guess I have.’ Then he squeezed the trigger.
Mary-Alice jumped at the report of the Yellow Boy, then watched in horror when Andrews lurched back and fell across the chair behind him.
It collapsed with a clatter under his weight, and he ended up sprawled across the splintered mess. He didn’t move.
‘Are you OK, Mary-Alice?’ Curtis asked her.
She came off the chair she was seated on and threw herself at him. She buried her face into his chest and started to cry. ‘Oh, Jim. Thank you. They were ghastly. They killed Lester. Shot him down cold.’
‘No, Mary-Alice. Lester is still alive. He’s at the doc’s.’
She took a step back and looked up at him through tear-filled eyes. ‘He’s alive? Lester’s alive?’
‘Yes.’
‘But it can’t be. I saw him with my own eyes.’ Her hand fluttered to her chest.
‘He was the last I heard.’
Mary-Alice frowned at him. ‘What are you doing here? Did the sheriff let you out?’
‘Not exactly. Come on, we’ve got to get out of here.’
‘Where are we going? They burned everything we built.’
‘Yeah, I know. I’m going to take you to Beth Morris’s. You can stay there while this all sorts itself out.’
‘OK.’
They started towards the door and just before they walked outside, the still-stunned form of Brooks filled the doorway.
‘What the hell?’ he asked, bewildered.
Curtis’ reflexes were like lightning and he brought the Yellow Boy swinging up so that the butt plate caught the man under his chin. He dropped like a stone, once aga
in out like a flame in a rain storm. Then they disappeared outside.
Chapter 14
‘I can’t believe it,’ Beth Morris said, aghast. ‘Why? Why would he kill our father?’
Curtis and Mary-Alice had arrived back at the Circle M in the late afternoon and he had just now told her of his theory about her brother, Cody.
Curtis shrugged. ‘I guess only he could have answered that. Not now though. Anyhow, the sign doesn’t lie. He hid his horse and crept up and shot your father.’
Beth Morris shook her head. ‘It would explain why he was in a hurry to sell the timber rights. But I’d like to know what happened to the money.’
‘It’s probably with your father’s will. I’m going to see if I can find it tonight.’
‘Where?’ Mary-Alice asked.
‘The most obvious place. Brotherton’s office.’
‘No!’ both women gasped out at once.
‘They’ll kill you if they find you,’ Beth pointed out.
‘You can’t do it,’ said Mary-Alice. ‘I couldn’t stand it if you were killed because of me.’
‘Just hold up,’ Curtis urged them. ‘First off, I ain’t going to get killed. Second, even if they do find me, they’ll have themselves a tiger by the tail.’
He gave them a wry smile but neither seemed to be impressed by his attempt at humour.
‘That’s not funny,’ Mary-Alice scolded him.
Curtis nodded. ‘Maybe not, but if I don’t find that will, then Brotherton can do what he wants with all of that timber, and there is no way to stop him.’
‘What will you do if you find it?’ Beth asked.
‘Bring it back here. If he does have it, it’ll mean that he either killed Tinkler and took it, or . . .’ he paused.
‘What?’ asked Mary-Alice.
‘I think I know,’ Beth said.
He gave her a reluctant stare.
Beth continued. ‘It could mean that Cody killed Tinkler to get the will so he could sell the timber without any interference. And if he did, then Brotherton killed him for it.’
Curtis nodded. ‘I’m sorry.’
Beth sighed. ‘After what you’ve told me, I’m not surprised that it has led to this. Just be careful. I’m like Mary-Alice. I don’t want you killed on my behalf.’
