by Paul Bedford
Unable to breathe and absolutely terrified, Cathy surrendered to panic and began to struggle violently. The sudden vicious blow to her head was stupefying and left her floundering, with all her muscle strength abruptly gone. After that, all she heard was the heavy breathing of her captor as he dragged her bodily away, much like a mountain lion might, to his lair. She was totally defenceless and lost to the world!
Then Clay Bassett, finally getting over his surprise, powered up from the ground and aimed his Colt Army at the kidnapper’s broad back. Unfortunately, he had to cock it and the loud click resounded in the still night air. Twisting like the big cat with his prey, the intruder reacted to the totally unexpected challenge. With Cathy’s body now in the way, Bassett had no choice but to hold fire, but not so his opponent.
The Scottish Highlander turned American outlaw instinctively aimed at the largest target, Bassett’s torso. Accompanied by a bright powder flash from the muzzle, his revolver discharged its deadly load. The barrel must have dropped slightly, because the heavy bullet ripped into his victim’s belly and that man dropped to his knees with an agonized howl. His companions around the far side of the campfire reached for their weapons in alarm, but with their night vision compromised, they merely milled around in confusion.
Taw Johnson had only just pulled his pants back up, but even so he reacted with remarkable speed. Intuitively realizing that the girl had to be involved, he grabbed his revolver and pounded back towards the camp, bellowing out, ‘Hold fire unless you’ve got a target!’
The Highlander tightened his grip on his prize. He should really have finished his opponent, but he had been taken aback by that man’s sudden appearance and with those in the camp stirring he needed to be gone . . . quickly. Returning to the fore, he again dragged Cathy with him, but by doing so he lost her protective cover.
Despite the searing pain in his gut, Clay Bassett still gripped his Colt. He knew that he was in serious trouble, but nobody shot him and got away with it. Rapidly drawing a bead, he squeezed the trigger. The gun crashed out, but because he was on his knees the bullet went low, striking his enemy in the left thigh.
It was the kidnapper’s turn to cry out. Suddenly his left leg just would not support him and he fell heavily to the ground. Despite the severe pain, he could still feel stunned disbelief at having been thwarted. Then Cathy tore away from his abruptly weakened grip and screamed out, ‘Help me!’
With her frantic cry ringing in his ears, Johnson burst through his cordon of men and rapidly skirted the flames. Night fighting was not new to him and so he had kept one eye closed during the dash from the river. Peering into the gloom, he was now able to make out two figures apparently wrestling on the ground. Closing swiftly, he was soon able to distinguish Cathy’s form and that of an unknown man. At the sound of the outlaw leader’s approach, the hooded stranger twisted around and raised a revolver.
For such a big man, Johnson had fast reflexes. He aimed and fired in one smooth action. As the gun bucked in his hand, he shifted position and again squeezed the trigger. In quick succession, two bullets slammed into the Highlander’s chest. The bludgeoning force smashed him back against the turf and all of a sudden he hadn’t the strength left to squeeze anything. The revolver slipped from his fingers and with a last dying effort he glared up at his killer.
‘Bloody Sassenach!’ he hissed angrily and then fell back and was still.
Johnson was totally mystified by the startling turn of events. ‘Who was that son of a bitch?’ he barked. ‘And what the hell is a Sassenach?’
Cathy was trembling with reaction. She reached her hands out for him to help her up and unthinkingly they tumbled into each other’s arms. He protectively enveloped her shaking body and would have happily remained in that position had she not suddenly recollected just who he was. Shocked by her own behaviour, she struggled free, but not before the two of them had exchanged unexpectedly prolonged eye contact. Then she remembered Bassett and guilt overwhelmed her.
‘Your friend took the first bullet,’ she blurted out. ‘He’s over there.’
Startled, Johnson peered into the murk. He shivered involuntarily as he spotted his deputy. ‘You men, follow me,’ he yelled and soon fourteen men surrounded Bassett’s pitiful figure. Still on his knees, he had fallen forward as though attempting to lessen the pain.
‘Get him on a blanket and over to the fire,’ Johnson commanded. ‘We need to see how bad it is.’
As his men complied, the big man moved slowly and purposefully back to the body of their unknown assailant. His mind told him that Clay was finished, because nobody survived that kind of belly wound. His heart, however, prayed otherwise. They had ridden together for too long for it to end like this. As Cathy watched in horror, Johnson took careful aim at a set of bearded, lifeless features and grimly squeezed off a third shot. The bullet struck the Highlander between sightless eyes and would have made an effective coup de grace.
Turning away from the gruesome corpse, he grimaced as a high-pitched scream resounded from over by the fire. The effort involved in moving Bassett had obviously severely tested him. Even so, Johnson did not immediately join his friend. Instead he remained motionless in the dark, carefully scrutinizing his surroundings as best he could. Just who else was out there? It was very unusual for a man to operate entirely alone, although of course the old time ‘mountain men’ had been known to. Finally, and very reluctantly, he headed back to the fire, reloading and holstering his weapon on the way. If others were stalking their camp, there was damn little that he could do about it until daylight and in the meantime there was a wounded man to attend to.
‘Can’t you give him some laudanum?’ Cathy demanded on his return. In spite of her still being a prisoner, she knew that Bassett had very probably saved her from a much worse fate and his suffering touched her deeply.
Johnson shook his head regretfully. ‘Trader Whiskey is all we have. Times haven’t been easy lately.’
Bassett suddenly opened his eyes and stared feverishly up at his boss. ‘He’s kilt me, Taw!’
‘Like hell he has!’ that man responded. ‘Come daylight, we’ll get that lead out of your belly and patch you up good as new.’
As Kenny Packard knelt next to the injured man and carefully poured some liquor into his mouth, Johnson suddenly recollected the earlier strange positioning of his men around the campfire. ‘And what the hell were you lot doing, acting like my part of the fire had the plague? It certainly wasn’t consideration and that’s for truth.’
The outlaws regarded each other silently for a moment. It was a surly looking cuss named Vance who finally plucked up the courage to speak.
‘Clay said we should keep clear of you, to maybe draw in that fella. Said you’d like as not would have smelt him yourself, only you was taken up with other things.’ As he spoke, he glanced accusingly over at Cathy.
A volatile mixture of guilt and anger flared up within Johnson’s powerful frame. As colour flushed into his face, he squared his shoulders and took a step towards the suddenly very nervous scavenger. Then it dawned on him that he was the only person to blame for the situation. Drawing in a deep breath, he nodded regretfully.
‘Then Clay got it right and I didn’t, but I won’t make that mistake again. I want a two man watch alternating throughout the night. Tomorrow we’ll find out just who else is out there, because I don’t believe one man alone would target a group our size.’
As the men drifted off, he glanced over at Cathy. She was trembling from a mixture of cold and reaction. Grabbing another bottle of whiskey and a blanket, he led her closer to the fire.
‘Take a swig of this. It’ll either perk you up or just maybe kill you,’ he remarked ambiguously.
Against her better judgement she did so and was soon coughing and wheezing. ‘What in God’s name is in that stuff?’ she finally managed.
‘It’s hard to tell,’ he replied, with the makings of a smile. ‘Like as not some chewing tobacco and red hot peppers have
gone into it. It’s no wonder it used to send the redskins on the warpath, but tell me you don’t feel better and I’ll call you a liar.’
Once she caught her breath, the young woman asked the question that was uppermost in her mind. ‘What will happen to your friend? Will you leave him behind?’
Taw Johnson was genuinely shocked. ‘Sweet Jesus, what kind of men do you take us for? We’re outlaws, not animals! Come first light, we’ll try and cut the bullet out. With or without that, he’s like as not going to die, but one thing’s for sure. Happen hell or high water, we’re not moving from this place until he passes, because once you side with a man, you stick with him!’
Chapter Five
The two men set off at first light. The morning was chilly and misty, but John Clemens had shown no hesitation in climbing out of his snug, hay-covered bedroll in the barn. For a very good reason, he was a driven man. He knew there would be no more nights under cover – unless he ended up in a cold hole in the ground – until he got what was left of his wife back. After hearing about the latest raid, such a grim mind set came naturally to him, because he was under no illusions that they were pursuing a band of very dangerous men. And such men would doubtless be relentlessly abusing Cathy’s voluptuous body.
Liam’s father and brother waved them off and then resolutely observed them until they were finally out of sight. Only then did the younger man turn to his silent travelling companion.
‘So what do I call you? Clemens, John, sir or maybe even General, now that we are an army of two?’
‘John has been my given name for forty-one years,’ that man replied matter of factly. ‘I reckon that’ll serve well enough. But just remember that I’m the ramrod on this trip, so don’t take liberties . . . otherwise I’ll pound you into pulp!’
Liam regarded him askance. ‘I don’t see that there’s any call for that attitude. We’re in this together. I know you must be concerned about your wife, but. . . .’
Clemens leaned sideways out of the saddle, so that his severe features crowded the other man’s vision. ‘You’ve no idea what I’m thinking on, sonny,’ he snarled. ‘In my time I’ve killed pretty much everything that’s walked or crawled, so all I need from you is directions. Savvy?’
‘Oh, I savvy,’ Liam responded swiftly, so as to not give his odious companion time to repeat his demand. He decided that he’d obviously teamed up with a madman and he did just wonder how any woman could possibly tolerate him. She must be as ornery as he is, he decided.
Cathy gently patted Clay Bassett’s florid forehead with a damp kerchief. Even though he was one of her kidnappers, she couldn’t help but feel sorry for his terrible plight and yet his parlous condition did bring one compensation. Delirious and burning up with fever, he thankfully had little knowledge of the suffering that his body was enduring. One brief attempt had been made to extract the bullet, but that had soon been abandoned. It was lodged far too deep.
As she knelt by the fire next to her patient, she heard the sound of horses approaching the camp. Looking up, Cathy found Johnson’s intense gaze on her. As their eyes met, he favoured her with a genuine smile before directing his attention to the single rider leading a spare horse that reined up before him.
‘One set of tracks coming towards the camp and none going out, boss,’ Jed reported. ‘I found this mangy beast ground-tethered in those rocks over yonder. Looks to me like that cuss was on his lonesome.’
Taw Johnson regarded him intently. ‘That’s what you reckon, huh? But what if there’s a pack of them out there and our man just fancied getting the jump on them to grab the girl first?’ He toyed with the drawtube spyglass that he had taken from the body. ‘They could be watching us through one of these right now and we’d be none the wiser.’ The outlaw leader fell silent for a moment as he pondered his options, before finally nodding his head decisively.
‘The Breaks obviously isn’t as deserted as I thought and we’re not going to be taken unawares again. Vance, take Davis and four others. You pick ’em. Strike off along the riverbank a couple of miles and then spread out and make a semi-circular sweep around this camp until you hit the water again. Don’t lose sight of each other and if you see anybody, send a rider hightailing it back here for me. Do not start shooting. Is that understood?’
‘Yeah, yeah, I get it, Taw,’ that outlaw responded. He had a powder burn on his cheek and a strange cast in one eye, which gave him a shifty demeanour that he had spent most of his life living down to. That characteristic suddenly became even more marked, as he uncomfortably shuffled his feet before speaking again. ‘Thing is, boss,’ he mumbled, ‘a few of the boys were thinking that we should just move on out of here. Cross the river and carry on south before any more trouble hits us. After all, you might be right. There could be more of them.’
A chill settled over Taw Johnson’s features that was evident to everybody watching. As he slowly scrutinized his men, a veil seemed to fall over his eyes that left the scavengers feeling uneasy without really understanding why. His right hand briefly brushed the butt of his Colt and then drifted away. Then, without any warning, he rapidly advanced on the unfortunate Vance. Seizing his throat in a vice-like grip, so that he instantly began to choke, Johnson addressed him in a tone that positively dripped with menace. It was obvious to everyone that his next words were meant for them all.
‘Well, you can tell those boys that nobody who rides with me gets left behind until they’ve stopped breathing, which in your case might not be long. Anybody who can’t work with that can leave now . . . but the next time I see them I’ll kill them!’ With that, he abruptly released his grip, allowing Vance to drop gasping to his knees.
‘Now if you’ve stopped pissing around, I suggest you get on with what I told you. Oh, and heave that cadaver in the river. I’m sick of looking at it.’
As every man present eagerly nodded his assent, their fearsome leader turned away and looked over at Cathy Clemens. She had a strange look in her eyes, as though she was seeing the big man in a new light.
‘Like I said last night,’ he remarked softly. ‘Outlaws, not animals!’
It was early afternoon when the terrain began to change. They left the ubiquitous Northern Plains grassland behind and entered a different world of steep bluffs and strange rocky outcroppings. The range at which a possible assailant could be spotted, dropped from miles to yards. John Clemens was suddenly out of his element and he knew it.
‘Welcome to the Missouri Breaks, John,’ Liam announced flamboyantly. It had not escaped his notice that his companion was looking distinctly uncomfortable with the change in surroundings. ‘From now on, trouble could be around any bend and you wouldn’t even know it.’
Clemens spat a stream of chewing tobacco from out of the corner of his mouth. The two men had been silent for hours, mainly due to his taciturn disposition, but he recognized that that would have to change. Yet it was also his nature not to compromise.
‘If you want your horse back and a few others besides, you’ll need me and this Sharps rifle, so don’t get uppity.’
Liam regarded him calmly. ‘Fair enough, but that works both ways. I’ve spent many weeks exploring and hunting round here. I know the trails, chokepoints and likely ambush sites. If those marauders are in the Breaks, I’ll find them. Which means you need me to get your wife back. That kind of makes us partners, don’t it?’ With that, he favoured the older man with a knowing smile, which was almost guaranteed to annoy.
Deep down, Clemens recognized the logic in what he had just heard, but sadly the aggressive side to his personality just couldn’t tolerate any level of disrespect from someone a good ten years his junior. He could feel his hackles begin to rise.
‘Don’t rile me, boy, or it’ll go badly for you.’
That didn’t sit well with Liam. Secure in his local knowledge, he no longer felt inclined to back down to an ‘over the hill’ buffalo hunter.
‘You’d better walk softly around me, old man, or you’ll wake up and f
ind me gone.’
Clemens regarded him coldly for a moment and then leaned sideways in his saddle. ‘Let me explain something to you,’ he said mildly, before suddenly planting a right hook on the other man’s jaw.
Things didn’t work out quite the way Clemens had planned, however. Liam had anticipated the onset of violence and so was already rolling with the punch as it landed. Unable to stop his consequent slide out of the saddle, he was nevertheless able to inflict some damage on his way down. Kicking out with his left foot, he caught his opponent solidly under the chin and with a pained grunt, Clemens also tumbled out of his saddle.
Both men hit the ground hard at the same time. As their horses whinnied with fright and ran off, they desperately sucked air into their parched lungs. The younger man recovered first and scrambled to his feet. Racing towards his opponent, Liam again kicked out for a headshot. Somehow, Clemens just regained his senses in time. Reaching out, he seized hold of the rapidly approaching boot and twisted with all of his strength. Abruptly losing his balance, his victim fell full length and was winded for the second time. Sensing the other man’s vulnerability, Clemens got to his feet and leapt on top of him. Snarling with satisfaction, he landed first one and then a second haymaker on Liam’s unprotected features.
Vance was the outermost rider of the cordon that advanced through the terrain surrounding their campfire. His nearest companion was only intermittently in view as they weaved through the broken landscape. The unkempt outlaw held little hope of actually flushing anyone out and so consequently was bored and inattentive. It was therefore with considerable astonishment that he suddenly came upon two strangers violently struggling on the ground. He abruptly reined in, his sluggish mind totally absorbed by the unexpected conflict. Unsurprisingly, they remained oblivious of his presence.
