by Neil Hunter
He woke in the chill dawn. Packing away his gear Bodie took a mouthful of water from his canteen before mounting up and riding on.
He cut the trail again after twenty minutes. After an hour’s riding he came across the spot where Reefer and Tyree had camped the night. In the trampled earth around the blackened ring of the fire he found countless cigar butts. And lying on its side in the dirt was an empty tequila bottle.
Close on midday Bodie splashed across the muddy Colorado River, south of Austin, and found that the trail was still moving south and west. Ahead lay a vast, empty tract of arid terrain. A hostile land of searing sun and long waterless stretches. The next town of any size was San Antonio. Reefer might possibly stop off there. He could be in need of supplies. There was always the chance of picking up a couple of gun hands.
The sun was slipping out of sight off to the west when Bodie sighted the small ranch squatting on the banks of a clear-running creek. It was a sorry outfit. No more than a primitive adobe hut and a split-pole corral. There were probably a few dozen head of rangy longhorns running wild over the sparse range surrounding the place. Bodie rode in with a cautious reluctance, his rifle in his hand. He didn’t like the silence. The reason for the quiet soon revealed itself.
A dead man lay in the open doorway. A bullet had ripped off the top of his head. Another had blasted his right eye to bloody pulp. Flies were crawling all over the dead face. Bodie dismounted and went inside the hut. The interior looked as if a tornado had hit it. Furniture and utensils were thrown everywhere. The area around the cooking stove was littered with spilled food and the cupboard where supplies had been kept was empty. Bodie had one of his questions answered. Reefer had got his food. He had also filled another of his needs, too.
In a corner of the hut, hunched up against the flaking adobe wall, a naked girl watched Bodie through tear-misted eyes. She was around twenty years old, with short-cropped tawny hair. Probably pretty, too, Bodie decided. It was hard to tell right there and then because someone had given her a brutal beating around her face. Her lips were split and puffy. There was a huge bruise over her left cheekbone. Dried blood caked her nostrils. A of ragged scratches ran from her left shoulder, across the ripe swell of her right breast, tapering off near her groin. Dark bruises marked the white flesh of her body and the curving length of her thighs. At the base of her flat belly the triangle of tawny pubic hair was matted and bloody.
As Bodie approached her the girl lifted a hand, as if to defend herself. The mist left her eyes and they glowed with an intense anger and rage, green and cold.
‘Not again!’ she said. ‘Damn you, no! Not again!’
‘Ease off, girl,’ Bodie’ advised. ‘I ain’t with those two. I’m after the bastards.’
The girl stared at him while she absorbed his words. After a while her hand dropped and her head sagged down on her breast. She began to cry, softly, her naked shoulders heaving. Bodie left her to it. There was nothing he could do for her at that moment.
He went outside and found a shovel. Choosing a spot he began to dig. By the time he’d finished it was full dark and he was sweating from his exertions. He made his way back to the hut. Going inside he found a lamp and lit it, placing it on the table. Glancing over his shoulder he saw that the girl was still in the corner of the hut.
‘Who was he?’ he asked.
The girl raised her head, staring at the dark shape lying in the open door.
‘My father,’ she said. ‘Sam McCoy was his name.’ She ran a hand through her tangled hair. ‘They killed him!’ she said abruptly, her voice devoid of emotion. ‘Shot him down like he was nothing! Came in here and tore the place apart looking for money and food. And then they . . . they took me. Ripped my clothes off and beat me when I fought them. What did they expect me to do? Stand there and let them . . . let them .. do it! They were like animals. Laughing, watching each other do it, over and over! And then they made me....’ She broke off, wiping her swollen lips with her hands as if she was trying to rub off some vile taste.
‘I’ve dug a grave,’ Bodie said. ‘You want to see?’
The girl stood up, swaying unsteadily. She lifted her head, brushing damp hair back from her bruised face. ‘I got to get dressed,’ she said, as if she had only just become aware of her nakedness. She crossed the hut, tall now she was standing, full young breasts trembling tautly as she moved, brown nipples jutting erect against the early evening chill. As she moved by him, Bodie saw more livid scratches marking the white curve of her back, cruelly following the rounded swell of her firm buttocks. She vanished in a dark corner of the hut, emerging shortly with a blanket over her arm and a bundle of clothes over the other.
‘I want to bathe first,’ she said, and walked out of the hut.
Bodie followed, carrying the lamp. He trailed the girl to the creek, watched her drop her bundles on the bank and then step into the clear water. He heard her gasp as she entered the cold water. Even so she waded out to the center of the stream, lowering herself until she was able to duck her head under. She came up spluttering, then rose and washed her pale body, wincing as her fingers passed over the scratched and bruised flesh. Finished, she emerged from the creek, water spilling from her long legs, gleaming on her trembling breasts. She took the blanket and used it to dry herself. Then she unrolled the bundle of clothes and dressed in a pair of faded old Levi’s that were too small across the hips. She pulled on a man’s gray shirt, high-heeled boots. She buckled the wide belt holding up the Levi’s, then stared at Bodie, her bruised face somehow softened by the yellow light from the lamp.
‘Can we bury him now?’ she asked.
Bodie gave her the lamp to hold while he wrapped her father’s body in a blanket. He picked up the blanketed corpse in his arms and carried it to the hole he’d dug. Lowering the body into the grave, Bodie picked up the shovel and began to fill in the hole.
The girl watched him for a while, then she began to sing. Her voice faltered over the first few words, but then it grew stronger as she continued. Bodie recognized the hymn. It was Rock Of Ages. The girl sang it through without pause, her strong, dear voice rising to the night sky, floating up towards the pale, cold stars showing against the eternal darkness.
Bodie finished filling in the grave. He gathered some loose rocks and laid them over the mound of earth. The girl watched him in silence until he had finished, then she turned to him and said: ‘Thank you for what you’ve done...Mister…?’
‘Bodie.’
The girl nodded. ‘I’m Dana McCoy. You say you’re after those two men? Are you a lawman?’
Bodie sleeved sweat from his face. ‘In a manner of speaking. I’m after Hoyt Reefer and Jim Tyree for the bounty on them.’
‘They deserve hunting down,’ Dana exclaimed bitterly. ‘I hope you make them die real slow! And if that isn’t the kind of thing a young woman should say then I don’t give a damn, Bodie! Not a damn!’
They returned to the hut. Dana set too and did what she could to clear up the mess. Then she got a fire going in the stove. Bodie brought in his sack of supplies and his coffee and placed them on the table.
‘Help yourself,’ he told Dana.
Soon she had bacon sizzling in the pan and coffee bubbling in a pot. She rescued a loaf of bread from the floor and cut off the soiled crust.
‘Isn’t much,’ she said to Bodie when she finally served it up. She somehow made the remark sound like an apology.
‘Anything’s good when the alternative is nothing,’ Bodie remarked, helping himself to a thick slice of bread. ‘You make this?’
Dana nodded, not lifting her eyes from the plate. ‘My mother taught me. She taught me everything before she died. Then there was just me and...’ She choked back the words. Her head came up and she stared angrily at Bodie. ‘Why is this such a cruel land? My father came here twenty years ago. He built this place out of the wilderness. He had to fight to keep it. Indians. Drought. Flood. Sickness. You name it and my father faced it and beat it. When he went
away to the War, me and my mother kept the place together. It was hard but we did it. Three times we fought off Comanches. In the end they left us alone. Now it’s all over. Ain’t nobody left but me and I just don’t care anymore. There ain’t anything else bad can happen to me after today.’
Bodie drained his coffee cup and poured himself some more. He spooned in some sugar.
‘Trouble with life is it just keeps rolling along. Either you go with it or you just lie down and die. I figure you to be the kind who wouldn’t put up with being left by the wayside, Dana McCoy.’
She looked at him for a long time. Then a faint gleam showed in her deep green eyes. ‘I don’t know where you’ve come from and I’m sure you’re the kind of man my father would have run off his land, Mr. Bodie, but I think I like you.’
‘Sounds to me your father was a smart feller,’ Bodie said, smiling.
‘He was a good man,’ Dana said warmly. ‘A good and honest man. And I dare bet there are few of those about in this country.’
‘Amen to that.’
After the meal Dana cleared the table. Bodie went outside and put his horse in the corral. He hung his saddle over the top rail. Closing the gate he stood for a moment, breathing in the soft, sage-scented air. There were times, though few, when this wild, savage country, contrary to its nature, revealed a hidden beauty. Fleeting moments of calm. Often brutally shattered, Bodie thought, as he went back inside the hut.
‘In the morning you’ll go after those men?’ Dana said.
Bodie nodded. ‘Yeah.’
‘I want to ride with you, Bodie,’ she said calmly. ‘As far as you have to go and for as long as it takes!’
‘No!’ Bodie snapped. ‘Those ain’t a couple of old ladies I’m after. Jesus, you ought to know that! I’ve got enough trailing those two without having you on my tail.’
‘Don’t try and beat me down with hard words, Bodie. I was born and raised in this country. I know it like the back, of my hand, clear down to the border. I can ride as good as any Comanche and shoot a damn sight better. And I don’t need reminding what those two are like. I won’t let myself forget what they did to me. Not until the pair of them are dead.’
‘Well don’t worry on that score,’ Bodie said. ‘I ain’t plannin’ on taking them in alive!’
Dana stood with her hands on her hips, legs braced apart as she stared him out. ‘You can say no all night, Bodie, but I aim to go with you. Leave me and I’ll follow. Let me ride along and I won’t get in your way. You give the orders. I won’t hinder you.’
Bodie swore under his breath, knowing he was good and trapped. He didn’t doubt that she was capable of following him. He wouldn’t lose her, not in a country that had been her backyard since she’d been a child. He would only waste his breath trying to talk her out of it. Dana McCoy was a determined, stubborn young woman, and Bodie, from past experience, knew better than to try and make her change her mind.
‘Let’s get some sleep,’ he growled. ‘I aim to move with the first light.’
She turned and crossed to close the door. ‘You can have the cot in the corner there,’ she said, indicating the homemade bed. ‘I’m over there on the far side of the stove. Goodnight, Mr. Bodie.’
‘Buenos noches, Miss McCoy.’
A little later, wrapped in his blanket, Bodie rolled over, staring across the darkened hut. He was sure he’d heard a faint sound coming from Dana’s cot. The sound was low, muffled. It could have been the wind outside. Then again it could have been the lonely cry of a young girl, alone in the world and not yet sure which way to go. Bodie listened for a while and then lay back, letting sleep drug his mind.
Chapter Twelve
They had made good time since leaving the ranch. The wind of the previous day had gone and the trail they were following was clear.
Dawn had merged with the day, the sun climbing swiftly, and by mid-morning the heat was unbearable. Bodie’s shirt clung damply to his broad back. Sweat trickled down his face, stinging his eyes. He rode in silence, concentrating on the tracks left by the two horses carrying Reefer and Tyree.
Just behind him Dana McCoy trailed along on a wiry black and white pony. Dana had a battered old cavalry hat pulled down over her eyes. In the cracked scabbard on her saddle rested a well-used Spencer carbine. Dangling from the saddle horn was a large, filled canteen. Dana herself rode in pained silence. Her bruised body was taut, stiff, aching badly. The bruises on her face had turned dark with blotches of yellow. Her lower lip remained swollen, though the upper lip had gone down well. Sweat glistened on her face, pale beneath her tan. Her shirt had a wide vee shape of sweat at the back. It clung wetly to her full breasts at the front, emphasizing the ripe fullness, her sensitive nipples constantly being chafed by the shirt’s coarse material.
In the long hours since leaving the ranch she and Bodie had barely exchanged a word. Dana didn’t try to draw him into a conversation. He would talk when he was ready and not before.
They moved warily along the dry, sandy bed of some long gone creek. The heat, trapped by the sloping banks, reached out and struck them with physical force. Heat waves shimmered along the length of the barren channel. It glanced off the bright metal of Bodie’s Winchester.
He reined in abruptly, swinging the Winchester to readiness as he saw something ahead of them. A dark, humped shape in the middle of the channel.
‘Bodie?’ Dana questioned, peering at the distant shape herself.
He silenced her with a sharp flick of his hand. ‘A goddam horse!’
And so it was. Still saddled, it lay on its side, rigid legs thrust out from its swollen belly. Now Bodie could see the dark blood streaking its mouth and nostrils. A ragged hole showed where a gun had been used to end its life. Flies, thick and black, crawled over the carcass.
Bodie let his eyes move back and forth along the silent, seemingly empty rims of both banks. Nothing moved. There was no sound. But his instincts told him not to be taken in by mere appearances.
‘Bodie!’
He continued to scan the rims, letting his horse walk forward, closer to the dead horse.
‘Bodie, listen! That horse. It’s one of theirs. I recognize it.’
The flies, suddenly aware of Bodie’s closeness, rose in a buzzing, angry cloud. Hovering, darting, they waited for the intruder to leave so they could resume their feeding.
‘Damn you, Bodie, they could still be around!’ Dana persisted.
And I know where, Bodie acknowledged silently, picking the gleam of sunlight as it darted along the barrel of a rifle up on the rim to his left.
‘Down!’ he yelled over his shoulder at Dana, twisting himself from the saddle as he spoke, and hoping she had the presence to act on his warning.
He was barely clear of the saddle when his ears picked up the distant slam of a shot. The ground rushed up to meet him and he hit on his right shoulder, rolling frantically. As he touched the ground he heard the shrill cry of a horse in pain. Then he was gathering his jangled senses, jerking his body round. He threw the rifle to his shoulder and fired at the drift of powder smoke up on the rim. His bullet whacked up a gout of earth and he was rewarded by the sight of a blurred figure jerking upright, pulling back from the rim. Bodie levered another round into the breech and fired again but the figure had gone.
He threw a quick glance towards Dana’s horse, saw that the saddle was empty. She was down in the sand, the Spencer carbine clasped in her slender hands. Her hat had gone and the tawny cap of hair clung damply to her head.
‘Stay down!’ he snapped, glowering at her, annoyed by the fact that he had been forced into the position of having to look out for her.
A ragged sound broke the silence. Bodie glanced to his right. His own horse lay on its side, a pulpy hole in its neck where the bullet intended for Bodie had exited. Bodie swore bitterly. He had owned the horse for a good time and it had carried him a long way. He reached down and slid his Colt from the holster. Leveling it he fired once, putting a .45 bullet through
the horse’s brain.
The sound of the shot galvanized the hidden rifleman into action. His dark shape appeared briefly, further along the rim from where he’d fired his first shot. Rifle fire added to the rattling echo of Bodie’s pistol shot. Bullets slammed into the earth around Bodie’s prone body. He moved promptly, squirming across the hot sand until he was sheltered by the carcass of his dead horse.
‘Dana, get over here, and fast!’ Bodie urged. He lifted his rifle and pumped a couple of quick shots in the general direction of the ambusher, giving Dana time to reach his side.
She pushed herself tightly up against the dead horse’s underbelly, closing her mind to its sweaty odor.
‘I can think of better places to get cozy,' she said pointedly.
Bodie ignored her. He was busy thumbing fresh cartridges into the Winchester. His eyes travelled along the rim, watching for a sign that the ambusher was about to make another try. Come on, you son of a bitch, he begged silently. Show your ass for one lousy second and I’ll ream it out with a bullet!
‘Where’s the other one?’ Dana whispered.
‘How the hell am I supposed to know? If you’re so damned interested wriggle your butt round and keep a watch along the rim behind us.’
She did as he suggested without a word and for a time there was a deathly silence. Bodie and the girl could have been the only humans within a hundred miles. It seemed that way, but Bodie knew better. Somewhere close by were Reefer and Tyree. He knew it as sure as he knew that he was going to end up killing the pair of them.
Bodie felt a slight irritation building up. He didn’t like the situation. Sitting out in the open, virtually pinned down by a man he couldn’t even see. He felt a runnel of sweat trickle down his face and shook it away angrily.
Damn!
Reefer and Tyree could keep him here until hell froze over if they wanted. He knew that if he dared to put his nose out from behind the dead horse he was liable to have it shot off. But he wasn’t going to sit here all day. Somehow, soon, he had to precipitate the action.
