Bodie 1

by Neil Hunter

  The last time Bodie had faced Silverbuck it had almost resulted in one of them dying. Because the man Bodie had been tracking, for a long stretch, had turned out to be Silverbuck’s employer at the time. The breed had been prepared to kill Bodie to safeguard his investment. In the end the only one to die had been the man Bodie had been after. He had stepped in the way of Silverbuck’s bullet, intended for Bodie. The distraction had given Bodie time to gain cover. But by the time he had shown himself again Silverbuck had gone, deciding that with his employer dead there was little to be gained from staying around.

  Watching the prowling breed Bodie felt the old anger rising. He could imagine Silverbuck’s pleasure when he had been offered money to go out and kill Bodie.

  Let’s see you try, you bastard!

  Bodie slid his rifle forward, following Silverbuck’s progress. He raised the muzzle a fraction, felt the barrel snag against a hanging tendril of thorn. The slight movement was enough to create a whisper of sound. Instantly Silverbuck reacted, his dark body twisting round, lowering to a crouch. The stubby rifle came round too, arcing towards Bodie’s place of concealment. The black muzzle winked flame and a gush of smoke. The sound of the shot rattled across the clearing. Bodie felt the wind of the bullet as it passed his face. He cursed softly, rolling away from his position, trying to pull himself deeper into the brush. Silverbuck’s rifle cracked again. He kept firing as he ran forward. Bullets ripped through the brush around Bodie. He knew that eventually one of those bullets was going to find him.

  ‘This time I kill you, Bodie.’ Silverbuck’s taunt floated through the haze of powder smoke. A harsh laugh filled the air, followed by a long, high howl. ‘Show yourself, Bodie! I am Silverbuck and this day I will kill you!’

  Bodie rose up on one knee, hugging the Winchester to his shoulder. Just keep talking, you son of a bitch, he begged. Make all the noise you want cause it gives me something to shoot at. He held Silverbuck’s weaving figure in his sights through the tangled web of brush, easing back on the trigger. The Winchester cracked and Silverbuck’s taunting cry changed to a hurt yelp. He clapped a hand to his side, feeling the hot blood, and realizing his lack of caution threw himself to one side as Bodie fired again.

  The second shot had missed, Bodie knew. He thrust to his feet, shouldering his way through the brush, stepping out into the open. He searched the area for a sign of the half breed. There was a sudden rush of sound close by his right side. Bodie twisted round just as Silverbuck’s hurtling shape crashed against him. The breed had tossed aside his empty rifle, replacing it with the thick-bladed, razor edged knife he carried in his moccasin. Bodie felt himself going down with Silverbuck’s writhing body wrapped about him. They hit the ground hard, Silverbuck grunting in triumph. He slashed the knife down at Bodie’s throat and met only empty air as the manhunter jerked his head back. Before Silverbuck could bring the knife back for a second cut Bodie, remembering he was still holding his Winchester, jabbed the hard butt of the stock against the side of Silverbuck’s face. Silverbuck grunted as the cheekbone cracked. Soft flesh split and blood welled from the ragged gash. Aware of the deadly knife the breed still held Bodie tossed his rifle aside and caught hold of Silverbuck’s wrist, forcing the glittering blade away from .his body. He shoved the heel of his right hand hard up against the underside of Silverbuck’s jaw, pushing the breed’s head back. There was a moment of panic and then Silverbuck regained control of his emotions. His left fist hammered down across Bodie’s face. Bodie’s head rocked to one side, pain flaring in his jaw. Blood streamed from a torn lip. He released the pressure on Silverbuck’s jaw, drew his fist back, then clubbed the breed across the mouth. Silverbuck’s face twisted in a rictus of agony. He spat blood and broken teeth. Bodie hit him again, crushing Silverbuck’s nose. Blood squirted out in streams. Silverbuck wrenched himself away from Bodie, breaking the grip the manhunter had on his wrist. Letting himself roll Silverbuck came to his feet swiftly, thrusting his knife out before him, point uppermost. Yet before he even saw his adversary Bodie was on him. He had come to his feet as the breed had rolled away. The toe of his boot lashed up and out, catching Silverbuck in the stomach. White-hot pain speared his stomach. He stumbled back, fighting for breath, tears stinging his eyes as he tried to see Bodie. But there was no chance to see Bodie. The manhunter stepped in close, grasping Silverbuck’s knife wrist with one hand. Bodie’s other arm slid beneath Silverbuck’s arm, just above the elbow joint. Bodie put on the pressure, using Silverbuck’s own weight as a lever. He thrust down hard against the arm joint, heard Silverbuck gasp and thrust again. The arm bone snapped with an audible crack, the bone piercing the flesh of the arm, blood spurting from the wound. Silverbuck gave a low groan and slumped to his knees, the knife slipping forgotten from his hand. Crouching, Bodie picked up the knife. He took hold of a handful of Silverbuck’s black hair and yanked the breed’s head back, pressing the tip of the knife against the taut throat.

  ‘Now you listen to me, you half breed son of a bitch!’ Bodie pressed on the knife so that the tip penetrated the flesh, letting a thin runnel of blood course down the breed’s throat and across his naked chest. ‘Don’t play games with me! All I want from you is the name of the bastard who set you on my trail! Start remembering fast, because you ain’t got much time left!’

  Silverbuck tried to twist his body away from Bodie. All that happened was that the blade of the knife sliced into his throat. Just deep enough to make the blood flow steadily.

  ‘You keep wrigglin’ about like that and you’ll end up cutting your own throat,’ Bodie said coldly. ‘That would disappoint me somethin’ awful, Silverbuck, because I want to do the cuttin’ myself!’

  ‘Go to hell, you bastard!’ Silverbuck hissed through clenched teeth. Sweat gleamed on his set, bronze face. He stared up at Bodie through eyes burning with hatred. ‘I don’t tell you a thing!’

  Bodie slammed his right knee up into Silverbuck’s face. He heard something crunch and as Silverbuck sagged back, blood gushed from his mouth. Silverbuck’s head dropped against his chest. Blood streamed down his naked torso, soaking his pants. Still angry, Bodie hit the breed again, his fist coming down like a club. The blow struck Silverbuck across the back of his neck and he flopped face down on the ground, jerking softly, like a landed fish. Bodie planted a brutal knee in Silverbuck’s back, took hold of his hair again and yanked the breed’s bloody head up off the ground. Dirt had ground itself into the open gashes, clung to the sticky blood. Silverbuck’s eyes rolled, uncoordinated. He hardly seemed aware of his surroundings. Bodie pressed the keen edge of the knife against the rigid line of the throat.

  ‘Who hired you, Silverbuck?’

  Silverbuck spat blood. He began to dribble pink froth. ‘Fuck you, Bodie! You wan’ kill me? Then go ‘head!’

  Bodie rammed his knee down hard. He heard Silverbuck’s ribs creak. A low groan bubbled past the breed’s lips. ‘He must be payin’ you a lot, Silverbuck! You figure it’s worth it?’

  ‘I ain’t tellin’ you a damn thing, Bodie!’ Silverbuck’s voice rose to a shrill protest, and it didn’t stop until the blade of the knife in Bodie’s hand sliced its way across his throat, laying it open. Silverbuck kicked and jerked for a time. Only when he was still did Bodie let the breed’s head drop.

  He stood up, still holding the bloody knife, and gazed down at the bloody corpse. Turning away to pick up his rifle Bodie murmured: ‘Silverbuck, it seems like I’ve gone and cashed you in.’

  Then he picked up his rifle and went looking for the rest of the bunch who had been sent to kill him. He had quit running from them. He had murder in his heart and no thought of mercy for any of them. He was no longer the hunted!

  Now he was the hunter!

  He was Bodie - The Stalker!

  Chapter Fourteen

  There were two more.

  Bodie took them both without even raising a sweat. It was like competing against five-year old kids. He killed the first one with a .45 bullet through the back of t
he head, coming up behind the man without being heard or seen. The man had died with an extremely surprised expression on what was left of his face.

  The last one was just as easy. He tried to put up a fight, but Bodie put a quick shot through his left kneecap, blowing the joint apart, and after that the man was only too willing to talk. He told everything he knew and when he’d finished the look in Bodie’s eyes was terrible to see. The man had begged for help. Bodie’s knee shot had crippled him. He was in great pain and losing a lot of blood. Bodie obliged, putting a bullet between the man’s eyes to end his suffering. Bodie helped himself to ammunition from the dead men’s saddlebags. He took what food and water he could find, then used one of the stray horses to make his way back to where he had abandoned his own mount.

  He put the supplies he’d gathered into his saddlebags, cut free the horse carrying the dead Reefer and Tyree, and mounted up. Turning the animal towards San Antonio Bodie rode on, leaving the scattered corpses to the already circling vultures.

  He rode without pause. He drank water from his canteen on the move, chewed dried beef. When he came to water he stopped only long enough to let his horse drink. Then he rode on. He was tired and bloody and battered. He ached in every joint. Yet he rode like some grim specter through the long dark night hours and into the next day, ignoring the pre-dawn chill and the burning heat of the new morning.

  He sighted San Antonio in the early afternoon. Riding on he passed through the busy town, paying no attention to the curious stares he was getting from the citizens of the thriving community. As the noise of San Antonio slipped into the background, Bodie’s whole being focused on the gleaming railroad tracks curving off across the dusty Texas landscape. About half a mile out of town was a spur line, and sitting on that spur line was the end of Bodie’s trail.

  The black and maroon locomotive looked just the same as it had the day Bodie had first seen it. So did the long, richly-decorated Pullman.

  As Bodie approached the coach he saw the men lounging around in the blazing sunlight. He saw them for what they were. Hired guns. Bleak faced, with that hungry look in their cold eyes. Nervous hands never far away from the jutting handles of the guns they wore like primitive objects of religion. As they saw him coming they broke apart and formed a human barrier between him and the Pullman.

  Bodie reined in and dismounted.

  ‘You’re a dead man, Bodie,’ one of them said, smiling as if he had just said something funny.

  His partners grinned too. They were confident. They figured they had it made. That they were going to be the ones to gun down Bodie. The man they called The Stalker. So Bodie let them go on thinking that.

  And while they thought he drew his Colt and started shooting.

  He took the leader out with his first shot, planting a bullet in the man’s smirking face. The expanding .45 bullet burst the man’s head open like an Over ripe melon.

  The moment he’d fired Bodie changed his position, moving fast before the other gunmen could react. He snapped off two rapid shots at the closest, blasting a raw hole through the man’s side, while his second bullet took out the man’s throat, leaving a pulpy hole that spilled blood down the man’s shirt.

  The remaining pair managed to get off a couple of shots. One even came within a foot of Bodie’s body. It was the closest any of them came. The next shot was Bodie’s and it took the man out of the game for good. He went to the ground with a bullet in his heart. The sole survivor stood his ground, reckless confidence spurring him on. He shot off two bullets, both of which went wide of the mark due to his lack of patience in aiming. Even as the final shot was being fired Bodie lifted his Colt, held it steady and pulled the trigger. The Colt jerked in recoil, then steadied for Bodie to use his last shot. It hit the target a fraction of an inch below the first one. The gunman spun round before falling face down on the ground, twin pulpy cones of raw flesh protruding between his shoulders like miniature humps.

  Bodie ripped open the loading-gate and began punching out the empty cases. He thumbed in fresh cartridges as he moved towards the Pullman coach.

  Steam burst from the locomotive. Dense black smoke surged from the stack. The locomotive surged forward then steadied, couplings clanging.

  Thrusting the last bullet into the Colt’s cylinder Bodie broke into a run as the Pullman coach began to draw away from him. He should have expected Lyle Trask to have a last card to play. Not that the game was over yet.

  The door at the rear of the Pullman was jerked open and a dark-suited figure stepped out onto the swaying observation platform. Bodie recognized the hard face, the cropped cap of dark hair clinging to the skull.

  Teal!

  Lyle Trask’s man. Bodie saw something else as well. The stubby shape of a sawn-off shotgun in Teal’s hands. Bodie threw himself to the ground as the shotgun swung in his direction. He heard the boom of one barrel, heard the whistle of the spreading shot. His shoulder struck the dirt and he rolled, coming up on one knee, bringing up his Colt in a fluid movement. He triggered two quick shots at Teal then thrust to his feet and ran for the Pullman.

  Teal ducked low as the shots were fired. One shattered the glass panel of the door at his back. The other clipped the top of his left shoulder, nicking the flesh. Teal stumbled back, off-balance as the door of the observation platform rocked under his feet. Throwing out a hand Teal grabbed the rail that ran around the platform and pulled himself upright.

  At that moment Bodie reached the Pullman. He caught hold of the rail and jumped for the step. He saw Teal in the act of regaining his feet and lunged up onto the observation platform. He smashed bodily into Teal, driving the cursing man back. They hit the door leading to the Pullman’s interior and it splintered under their combined weight, spilling them to the carpeted door inside. Teal lashed out with booted feet, catching Bodie in the chest and throwing him clear. As Bodie slithered along the paneled wall Teal scrambled to his feet, dragging back the shotgun’s second hammer. He swung round to find his target, triggering the charge too soon. The blast of shot ripped a jagged hole in the wall. Seeing that he’d missed Teal plunged forward, swinging the empty shotgun like a club. Bodie, down on one knee, ducked under the vicious swing, then drove the barrel of his Colt into Teal’s face. The edge of the sight sliced open Teal’s left cheek. Teal grunted in pain. He swung the shotgun again, driving it down across Bodie’s gun hand. The Colt slipped from Bodie’s numbed fingers. Bodie thrust his left hand out, grabbing hold of Teal’s shirt front. He braced himself and swung Teal round. The shirt ripped and Teal was flung across the coach. He hit the far wall, bouncing off, and ran straight into Bodie’s rising boot. It sank into Teal’s groin, wrenching a high scream from the man. As Teal staggered back Bodie hit him again, blood spurting from Teal’s mashed lips. Teal still managed to lift the heavy shotgun, lashing out blindly in Bodie’s direction. Bodie swayed his body back out of the way, and as Teal was half-turned by the force of his own swing, Bodie caught hold of his coat and ran him across the floor. Teal let out a terrified yell as he realized where Bodie was directing him. Then it was too late. There was a sudden shattering of glass as Teal smashed headfirst through one of the Pullman’s side windows. Bodie kept shoving. There was a moment when Teal got a grip on the frame of the broken window, but then Bodie gave a final heave and Teal went over the edge of the frame. His writhing body twisted frantically as he fell, and when he hit the hard ground his broken body bounced and slithered for yards before coming to rest against an upthrust rock at the side of the track.

  Gasping for breath Bodie scooped up his Colt. He replaced the spent cartridges. Then he moved along the Pullman until he reached the door leading to Lyle Trask’s private compartment. The door was locked. Bodie unlocked it by the simple procedure of using his boot. The door swung open and Bodie stepped through.

  ‘Glad you were able to make it, Mr. Bodie,’ Lyle Trask smiled from behind his big oak desk.

  Bodie booted the door shut behind him. He wedged it securely with one of the h
eavy armchairs.

  ‘Somebody following you, Mr. Bodie?’ Trask inquired, trying to keep his tone light.

  Bodie smiled through bruised, bloody lips. ‘Not any more, Trask. Not Silverbuck, or any of his crew. Not even Mr. Teal. He just got off the train. The hard way.’

  Trask’s face paled a fraction. He didn’t speak for a moment and when he finally did his voice was low. ‘Are you planning a similar fate for me, Bodie?’

  Bodie slumped down in an armchair facing Trask, the muzzle of his Colt never once moving off Trask’s body.

  ‘You owe me $10,000, Trask. Cash! Now! You sent me after Reefer and his gang. They’re all dead. I figure you got the first delivery. Reefer and Tyree are out there somewhere. You want ‘em you go and drag ‘em in before the vultures finish ‘em off. ‘

  Trask nodded. ‘I’ll take your word for it.’ He slid open a drawer in the desk and took out and threw across the desk a thick wad of banknotes. ‘It’s all there. The whole $10,000. Count it if you want. I had a feeling’ you might be calling in for it so I kept it handy!’

  ‘No faith in your own men!’ Bodie shook his head. ‘That’s sad, Mister Trask. If a man like you can’t buy the best what chance do the rest of us poor bastards have?’

  ‘I...I...don’t know what you mean,’ Trask began lamely. His eyes began to flick about the compartment as if he was looking for a way out. He was beginning to show the symptoms of a trapped man. . . .

  Bodie snapped back the Colt’s hammer, his anger rising in a burning flood. ‘The hell you don’t, you double-crossing bastard! You set me up. Sent me out to do your dirty work and then hired a bunch of second-rate guns to get rid of me. You miserable son of a bitch! What the hell was it all for?’

  ‘Haven’t you worked it out, Bodie?’ Trask asked, his control returning slowly.

  ‘Shit, you bastard, I’ve been too damn busy trying to stay alive to sit down and work out why.’