Deadly Shadow

by Paul Bedford

  ‘Oh, hell!’ he mumbled sorrowfully. Dismounting, he wandered over and stared down at his friend for what seemed to the others like a dangerously long time.

  ‘We’re going to bury him,’ he abruptly proclaimed.

  Vance’s suspect eye and vivid powder burn suddenly seemed to endow him with a sinister quality, as he glowered over at his leader. ‘That don’t seem right sensible, boss. We need to keep moving, what with that son of a bitch on our tail an’ all.’

  Taw drew in a shuddering breath and turned to face a very nervous outlaw. ‘That man and I have ridden together for over a decade,’ he growled thunderously. ‘He was a good friend to me and in case you don’t recall, he looked out for some of you fellows as well. I didn’t abandon him in the Breaks and I ain’t leaving him to rot here now he’s dead. I don’t care if the devil himself is on our tail. Now all of you get digging. The quicker Clay is safely buried, the sooner we get moving!’

  Although chastened, Vance still had the cojones to mention one other matter. ‘What about his boots? Seems kind of a waste to put them under the ground as well.’

  Taw clenched his ham like fists with unmistakable anger. ‘I was with him when he paid cash money for them. They stay with him and that’s an end to it. Don’t press me further.’

  Vance regarded him in guarded silence for a moment, before he and the six other remaining scavengers dismounted. Drawing their knives, they began to cut through the sod to excavate a rough and ready grave.

  ‘Oh and in case any of you witless varmints didn’t realize it, a decade is ten years,’ Taw added sharply. ‘That’s a long time to ride with a man.’

  John Clemens regarded the diminished group of fugitives with a snort of satisfaction. Then his spyglass settled on Cathy and his powder-stained forehead creased into a deep frown. Superficially, she appeared to be unhurt. Her hands definitely weren’t tied and unlike her kidnappers she remained mounted. So why the hell didn’t she just take off, back towards the Breaks?

  Deciding that it was time to give the poor fools another demonstration of his prowess, he withdrew the Sharps from its scabbard and slung it over his shoulder. Taking hold of his horse’s bridle, he firmly urged the animal backwards and down, so that in mere seconds it lay on the ground, effectively invisible to anyone more than a few yards away. Locating himself on the beast’s neck, just above its withers, Clemens then had a perfect elevated firing position.

  As he again raised the ladder sights, the concealed assassin pondered on whether to drop the gang’s leader, but eventually decided against it. That was one man he needed to encounter close up, but only on his terms and with all the others dead. Even if the big oaf wouldn’t beg for mercy, he would knowingly stare death in the face. Chuckling with anticipation, Clemens retracted the hammer and went through the so very familiar routine of taking another life.

  Taw reflectively patted the fresh earth as he made his final farewells. Even though wood was available from the redundant travois, he had decided against any kind of marker. Other travellers seeing such a thing might decide to become ‘resurrectionists’, in the hope of finding a few coins or a saleable set of teeth.

  ‘We need to go, boss,’ Vance ventured insistently. Clambering to his feet, he abruptly staggered under the brutal assault of a heavy calibre rifle bullet, as it punched through his chest. ‘Sweet Jesus, I’m kilt,’ he proclaimed in absolute horror, before shock took over and robbed him of any further speech. Coughing blood, the fatally hit outlaw pirouetted slightly before collapsing on to the grass.

  The only other person standing tall was Cathy and thus Taw yelled out, ‘Get down while I try to locate him.’

  So saying, he pointed his battered spyglass to the north and carefully scrutinized the landscape. Even with open grassland for thousands of yards, there was no indication of the whereabouts of the man hunter. It was both baffling and terrifying in equal measure.

  Despite the chill, Taw’s body was damp with sweat as he strained for a sign . . . any sign. Then he saw it. An unnatural mound in the grass. The haunches of an animal on its side.

  ‘God damn, but he’s good,’ the outlaw muttered.

  Lowering the glass, he peered round at his six remaining men. They gazed at him expectantly. When it came to the crunch, they had always expected him to come up with an answer and always in the past he had managed it. Yet his band’s drastic depletion suggested that he might be losing his sure touch. A woman could do that to a man!

  Struggling to shake off his uncharacteristically defeatist mood, Taw came to a decision. The time had come to make a stand and Vance’s corpse gave him an idea.

  ‘Right, listen up. Cut one of those travois loose.’ Even as he spoke, Taw was crawling over to the still warm body. Steeling himself, he dipped his hand in the fresh blood and daubed it over his face and jacket. ‘That bastard knows he’s got a kill lying here. Only thing is, it’s going to be me.’

  Ignoring the shock on Cathy’s face, he settled his gaze on her and continued, ‘I need you to ride between him and us. Spoil his aim while everyone else mounts up and gets Vance on a horse. Poor bastard’s going to have to come back to life for just a little while. You boys use the rawhide from the travois to tie his feet together and after that, place the frame over me, as though you couldn’t risk the time for another burial. After my mistake with Clay, Clemens’ll likely fall for it. Then you all ride like the devil is after you. Because if this doesn’t work out, he definitely will be. Savvy?’

  John Clemens slid another cartridge into the breech and prepared for a second shot. Unless the survivors intended remaining on their bellies until nightfall, he expected to drop at least one more as they mounted up. Then, much to his amazement, his wife urged her horse over, so that they were directly between him and the outlaws. After that he could only watch with increasing frustration as they clambered into their saddles. One man seemed to require a deal of assistance, but eventually they all rode off, with Cathy remaining at the rear.

  ‘God damn it, what’s got into that silly bitch?’ he demanded loudly.

  As though offering an opinion, his horse whinnied, thereby reminding him that there was really no longer any need for them to continue hugging the ground. Clambering to his feet, Clemens took a reflective chew on some beef jerky and waited patiently until the survivors had disappeared from view. Only then did he mount up and set off expectantly towards yet another patch of blood-soaked earth. As he got nearer, he noticed that a travois had been abandoned. It would have provided the makings for a nice fire, had he been prepared to allow himself one. Then he spotted the body beneath it and he smiled. That was another son of a bitch who wouldn’t be robbing honest folk.

  Taw Johnson sensed rather than heard the horseman approach. His left hand gripped the side of the travois, ready to hurl it aside, whilst his right clutched an Army Colt, cocked and ready. He knew full well the quality of the man that he was up against and so his flesh crawled with anticipation. The gunplay, when it happened, would likely be all over in a matter of seconds and if he failed, he didn’t hold out much hope for the rest of his gang. Or, quite possibly, even Cathy. The approaching animal snickered slightly, as though pouring scorn on his efforts. Its hoofs were getting close now. It was time!

  Chapter Nine

  The surrounding landscape was apparently empty and only a solitary dead man awaited him, but nevertheless Clemens’s Schofield was out of its holster. Having yet again restlessly scanned the horizon, he finally allowed his eyes to settle on the body underneath the travois. A man with his background was unlikely to take anything for granted and his heart suddenly lurched with shock. Something was very wrong and could be summed up in one word. Boots! Who would leave a pair of valuable boots on a cadaver?

  Even as he levelled his revolver at the frame, a powerful arm hurled it to one side and the ‘corpse’ aimed a gun of its own. The order of fire was too close to call. Both weapons belched forth lead and each one drew blood. Taw roared with pain as a bullet ripped into
his left shoulder, but he had been shot before and so somehow managed to keep hold of his Colt.

  Clemens felt a burning pain lance into the side of his head and swayed backwards in the saddle. His horse, although well trained, reared up in alarm. The man hunter instinctively realized that if he remained mounted, he was finished and so kicked out of his stirrups and tumbled to the ground. Grunting at the jarring impact, he rolled once and then attempted to take a snap shot at his opponent. Except that with blurred vision and blood flowing over his face he couldn’t see properly so he did the only thing left to him. Firing once for effect, he then kept on twisting and rolling in the long grass like an eel.

  Feeling light-headed with pain, Taw managed to scramble around behind the discarded travois. Even as he did so, the Schofield crashed out again, sending a bullet into one of the side poles. Splinters narrowly missed him as he in turn fired at the maniac squirming in the grass.

  ‘Do you hear that?’ Cathy shouted at her six remaining companions. ‘They’re fighting each other. We have to go and help.’

  Davis regarded her suspiciously. ‘Yeah, but just who are you fixing to help, bitch? That’s your husband out there, remember?’

  She glowered at him in frustration. ‘Let’s just say that I’ve realized I married the wrong man, but if we don’t hurry it might be too late to do anything about it.’

  Still Davis and the others wavered.

  ‘Sweet Jesus,’ she cried out. ‘If you sons of bitches won’t go back, at least give me a gun.’

  Finally, her entreaties took effect. The scavengers looked sheepishly at each other and Davis shrugged. ‘Oh, what the hell,’ he muttered. ‘He’d do it for us, wouldn’t he? And for Christ’s sake, someone give her a gun. With luck, she’ll shoot herself in the mouth.’

  One of the others reluctantly handed Cathy a spare revolver, of which by then they sadly had many. His accompanying words were loaded with menace. ‘Just make sure you point that in the right direction, lady. I’ve never actually kilt a female before, but I’ll happily pop a cap on you if you play us false!’

  Another gunshot ominously rang out and with that they turned in unison and urged their tired horses into motion. Despite their change of heart, the scavengers were noticeably reluctant and it wasn’t long before Cathy had left them well behind.

  John Clemens had managed to crawl back into undisturbed grass, which effectively made him invisible to the injured outlaw but, along with his own wound, unfortunately meant that he couldn’t finish the job. Desperately, he used a kerchief to mop the blood from his eyes. Although he was bleeding profusely, the damage seemed to be superficial and in any case, he had another problem on his mind. His biggest vulnerability was that he should find himself on foot!

  Taw Johnson’s left shoulder was throbbing abominably and he was struggling to focus. Yet his next target didn’t require a keen eye. A full-grown horse was only a little less difficult to hit than the side of a barn. Steeling himself against an unpleasant task, he fired off two shots into the belly of Clemens’s animal. The poor beast emitted an almost human scream and promptly keeled over. Then, as though in answer to his prayers, he heard the sound of pounding hoofs.

  Clemens swore viciously as he witnessed the bloody demise of his faithful animal. Its death meant that if he were to survive this encounter, he would have to start treading dangerously. His habit of always wearing full bandoliers meant that he still possessed plenty of ammunition, but he had to recover his rifle. Drawing in a deep breath, he suddenly launched himself to his feet and raced towards his belongings. As he dropped down next to the ‘flesh and blood’ barricade, one more shot crashed out from behind the travois. Untouched by the projectile, he seized the Sharps from its scabbard. Only then did he hear the sound that had brought joy to his opponent’s heart.

  Frantically peering through one unbloodied eye, Clemens twitched with surprise at the sight of his wife galloping towards the desperate conflict. Even more astonishing was the fact that she possessed a gun. As she careered up behind his wounded opponent, Clemens bellowed out, ‘Shoot him!’

  Cathy glanced sharply over at him, but instead of obeying his command she kept riding until her horse was directly between the two men. It didn’t escape her husband’s quick wits that such behaviour was becoming a nasty habit.

  ‘What the hell are you about?’ he barked out. ‘He means to finish me!’

  Rather than immediately answer, she merely gazed down on him, as though having just encountered him for the first time. Her features held a strangely unwelcoming expression, which did nothing to dispel his anxiety. He could only think that a fall or some such had scrambled her brains, because his head wound was not that disfiguring.

  ‘God’s blood, woman. It’s me, John, your husband. Surely you must recognize me?’

  Finally she displayed some recognition, but what came next gave him little comfort.

  ‘Just go, John. Leave while you can, before the others catch up.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, go? I’ve come for you. I’ve killed for you.’

  She favoured him with a sad smile. ‘Oh, I’ve seen what you’ve done. I’ve discovered the kind of person you really are and I want nothing more to do with you. I’m staying with this man and I won’t let you kill him.’

  Stunned disbelief gradually changed to a sneering understanding. ‘So that’s it. You’ve turned whore and joined up with this border trash.’ With the sound of more horses approaching, he momentarily fell silent and considered his options. Time was short. There really was only one choice.

  Rising up from behind his dead animal, he swiftly advanced on his wife, all the while taking care to keep her between him and her new friend.

  ‘Get off the horse, now!’ he barked.

  With discomforting determination, she swung her revolver over to point it at his chest. He really didn’t have time for all this.

  ‘You won’t shoot me,’ he remarked with studied calm. ‘We’re still married, remember?’ So saying, he reached out and firmly took the reins from her grasp. Then, before she could react, he slipped her foot out of the stirrup and heaved her bodily off the horse, ensuring that she fell in front of the outlaw leader.

  ‘You pig,’ she howled out in shock and anger.

  With his Sharps securely over his shoulder, Clemens leapt up into the saddle and viciously dug his heels in. A band of riders was coming up fast, but as yet no one had opened fire and Taw Johnson couldn’t draw a bead for fear of hitting Cathy. Even as Clemens raced away, half-blinded and desperately trying to control his unfamiliar mount, he still managed to have the last word.

  ‘You’d better make the best of him, bitch, because this doesn’t end here!’

  Davis and the others had been in no ‘all fired’ hurry to overhaul Cathy, but now that they saw a flesh and blood enemy riding away, they got the bit between their teeth and eagerly chased after him. Only Jed, pale-faced and in great pain from his broken leg, rejoined his leader. As Taw staggered to his feet with Cathy’s help, he yelled after them, ‘Come back here, you fools!’ But if any of them heard him, they affected not to.

  ‘God damn it all to hell,’ the outlaw raged. ‘They haven’t got the sense they were born with. They ought to join the cavalry!’

  The three of them watched helplessly as the horsemen receded across the sea of grass. Taw knew exactly what was going to happen and sure enough it did. There was a distant crash and one of the men was flung backwards off his horse. The remaining four riders grabbed the reins of yet another spare animal and rapidly retraced their steps.

  ‘If any of us are going to survive this, you need to start doing precisely what I say,’ Taw hollered at them as they despondently reined up before him.

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ agreed Davis grudgingly as he dismounted. It was plain for all to see that Taw was wounded and in pain and the scavenger sensed weakness. ‘So what do we do now, boss? What fine orders have you got for us, that just might could parole that stinking gun hand to Jesus
? That’s if you should manage to plug the bleeding in your shoulder?’ Even as he finished speaking, it occurred to him that he’d possibly pushed his luck too far.

  Cathy was in the process of easing his jacket off, but Taw brushed her away and fiercely advanced on the other man. Davis was tall, but scrawny and singularly lacking in power. He belatedly recognized that even wounded, his leader would be too much to handle and so he backed off . . . but not fast enough.

  Taw delivered a stinging open handed slap across Davis’s face. He would happily have shot him as an example to the others, but he had lost far too many men as it was.

  ‘The next time, I’ll use my fist,’ he growled. ‘And then these boys’ll need a shovel to scrape you up.’

  As the smarting and embarrassed outlaw stared sullenly at him, Taw addressed the rest of the men. ‘Let there be an end to this. If we get to fighting amongst ourselves, Clemens won’t even need that god damned buffalo gun of his.’ He paused to let his words sink in, before continuing. ‘Now the way I see it, we need to get to a town.’

  One of the others gazed at him warily. ‘I don’t like towns, boss . . . unless I’m looting them.’

  Taw sighed. ‘I know, I know. But I’ve got lead in this shoulder that needs digging out and Jed’s leg requires setting properly, or he’ll be a cripple for the rest of his days. And we need to get out of sight of that maniac back there . . . at least until we’re ready to have another crack at him.’

  Curiosity got the better of Davis. ‘So where are you thinking of taking us?’

  Eager to heal any rifts, Taw patted him companionably on the shoulder. ‘There’s a small town to the south-east of here, called Roy. I don’t know anything about it, other than it exists, but since there’s nothing else for miles in any direction, it’ll have to do.’

  John Clemens ducked his head into the rock pool’s icy water and immediately felt revived. He had temporarily retreated to the edge of the Breaks to regroup. His wound was clean and unlikely to infect and he had dispatched yet another of the shit-faced scavengers, but there was no room in his heart for any satisfaction. All he felt was burning rage.