by Neil Hunter
The shot raised a ripple of echoes. Flame shot from the Colt’s muzzle and Bridger went back out of his saddle as if he was on the end of a rope. He hit the ground on his back, Hopping around like a grounded fish. There was a bloody hole in his chest where Bodie`s bullet had caught him. It had come out at the base of his thick neck, ripping a pulpy mass of shredded flesh out with it. Shards of white bone stuck up in splinters.
At the sound of the shot Lonny Cagle threw himself from his saddle. He landed hard, twisting his left leg under him. Unable to check his fall he slammed face down on the hard ground. The impact opened a long gash down the side of his face. Blood seeped from the split flesh. Cagle grunted angrily, thrusting to his feet. He winced as hot pain sprang the length of his leg and he had to bite back on it, ignoring the hurt as his leg threatened to give way. At the forefront of his mind was the knowledge that if he didn’t do something fast it wasn’t going to matter about his leg. He’d have a damn sight more to worry over. He could hear Bridger’s dying screams and the sound sent a cold shiver down Cagle’s back. He yanked back the hammer on his handgun and limped forward through the acrid dust. All right, Bodie, you son of a bitch, I‘m coming! He knew that one way or the other it was all going to end in the next few seconds. Somebody was going to die. Cagle didn’t want to be that one. He figured he had as good a chance as any man. Well, hell, he`d give it his best. He’d got himself into this mess, so it was up to him to get himself clear. Shit or bust, he'd do his damndest to pull it off! He was ready - and the moment he set eyes on Bodie he'd let the bastard have it!
The problem was Lonny Cagle never got the chance to set his eyes on Bodie. In the instant he stumbled away from the drifting dust, scanning the street, he saw with dreadful clarity that it was empty, deserted, save for himself. Bodie wasn’t even in sight. Cagle’s head swung back and forth, eyes searching. Nothing! A wild rage engulfed him. Cagle stood there, ready to kill, but with no target.
‘Bodie! You fuckin’ asshole, where are you?’
Silence greeted his challenge.
Then was punctuated by a single shot, Lonny Cagle felt a solid blow in his right side. Following it there was a severe burst of pain running from one side of his body to the other. Then the left side of his body, just above his belt, seemed to explode outwards. Cagle’s eyes drifted towards the spot, and he saw a ragged tear in his shirt. Blood was spurting from the tear and a red mass of raw meat bulged obscenely through the gaping cloth.
An invisible force pushed Cagle to his knees and he felt a powerful numbness spreading over him. The pain was increasing. His body began to twitch as the nervous system reacted to the massive damage done. A sudden burst of wetness spread across the front of his pants as Cagle lost control of his bladder. He thrust out his left hand as he slumped towards the ground, supporting himself. He had no strength left even to lift his head, so he was unable to see Bodie step up alongside him, though he could hear the approaching footsteps.
'Rot in hell, you bastard,’ Cagle rasped. ‘You come to finish it?’
‘Never was one for bein' untidy,’ Bodie said evenly.
There was a soft click as the hammer of Bodie’s Colt eased back. There was a single shot. Lonny Cagle’s body arched violently as the bullet drove into his skull, plowing through his brain. It emerged between his eyes, tearing out a large sliver of bone. A fleshy spray fountained across the street, a hideous mixture of blood and brains that also ran down Cagle’s face. His body sprawled in the dirt, jerking in ugly motions of death, blood soaking the dry earth beneath him. And finally, when the blood had stopped flowing, the life had also gone and there was nothing left except for the flesh`- and when the scavengers found it even that would cease to exist.
Chapter Nine
Bodie had no regrets over the deaths of Cagle and Bridger.
They had been asking for a showdown ever since the confrontation back in Madison. They had got what they’d been asking for, and Bodie was damned if he was going to feel guilty about it. The same went for Brad Ryan. The man had deserved to die, Bodie figured. Being fool enough to believe Line Fargo’s tale about sending back help, Ryan had left himself open and defenseless. He had even let Fargo take his horse, the reason being that Fargo had convinced him he needed the animal to carry the statue as the original pack animal was showing signs of tiring.
Greed for the money the statue was supposedly bringing in had clouded Ryan's perception. He was hooked on Fargo’s promise of riches, and had let himself be left behind as nothing more than a sacrificial goat. Fargo had left him behind because Ryan’s wound would have made travel impossible — but he had also figured that if the law did reach the mining camp, then Ryan would put up some kind of resistance, thus holding the law from picking up Fargo’s new trail. Even if a standoff lasted no more than a couple of hours it would give Fargo that much extra time.
Bodie had to admit that Line Fargo worked out all the angles. He didn’t waste an opportunity or miss a trick.
With Cristabel perched behind him, her ripe body pressed tightly against his, her anus wrapped around him, Bodie rode out of the mining camp and began the long ride back down the mountain. judging by what Cristabel had told him Line Fargo had at least four hours start on him. In this rough country it was enough. Darkness would be on them in another hour, and Bodie wasn’t going to get too far once the light had faded. Even with a good moon it was risky business trying to traverse such rugged mountain terrain. But Bodie was determined not to waste too much time. He wanted to reach Fargo and fast.
From the moment Bodie had left Madison, at the start of his search for Linc Fargo, the outlaw and his bunch A had managed to keep well ahead. Circumstances had dictated that Bodie be kept from even getting close enough to see his quarry, and that stung. By this time he should have been able to reach Fargo easily. But it wasn’t turning out that way. First the clash with Lonny Cagle and company. Then the meeting with Sergeant Rostermann and the brush with the Apaches. And then, just when he managed to get close enough to figure he had it all sewn up, Cagle and his partners had almost finished everything. It was like some damned chain around his neck, holding him A back, and every time he thought he’d found the weak spot, some bastard added another few links, pulling him back three steps for the two he’d taken forward.
It wouldn’t happen again, Bodie decided. Fargo had held on to his freedom for far too long, and too many people had suffered because of it. It was beyond the time when Fargo should have stopped — and Bodie knew he had to make sure Fargo was stopped. For good and all!
The setting sun bathed the landscape in flaming red, washing the world in liquid fire. Deep shadows sprang across the steep mountain slopes, The night advanced on silent feet, the sunset fading, overpowered by the blackness. A hush fell across. the high country. From the high peaks a soft breeze drifted to the lower slopes, rippling through the long grass and the solid ranks of trees.
‘Only once before have I been up this high country,’ Cristabel whispered gently. She hugged herself closer to Bodie. ‘It is very beautiful, Bodie, do you not think so?’
‘Been so long since I had the time to look, I reckon I’d forgotten,’ Bodie said.
‘How could you forget so much beauty? Cristabel punched him lightly on the shoulder. ‘Even an hombre as bad as you must have a feeling for this land! Am I not right?’
His reply was a brief shrug, but Cristabel read more into that quick gesture than just a curt dismissal. He had problems, this violent, withdrawn man. They were problems that had been with him for a long time, had helped to form his hard, uncompromising character. Somewhere, deep down, was the real Bodie. Cristabel doubted if it would ever be allowed to surface. He kept it hidden, locked away, as though he was afraid to let the world see his vulnerability. She was intrigued, and would have given much to be the one to expose that which lay beneath the cold, brutal shell. But she knew full well that it would take more than just the short relationship between them to get Bodie to show himself. Cristabel sighed, resi
gning herself to what would have to be.
Bodie pushed on for as long as he could. Eager though he was to catch up with Linc Fargo, he had no intention of trying to ride down the mountainside in the pitch dark.
The only positive thing it might achieve was to get him to the bottom by the quickest route — and falling off a mountain held little appeal.
They made camp in a thick stand of pine. Bodie saw to the horse first, then made a small fire over which he cooked a meal of bacon and coffee. Cristabel sat on the far, side of the fire and watched him, fascinated by his orderly dexterity.
‘Bodie, do you get lonely?’
He glanced across at her, his face shadowed. Firelight gleamed in his eyes. ‘Damn me, woman, you’d drive a man crazy with all your fool questions! If you ever figure on getting married, Cristabel, I feel sorry for the poor feller who gets himself hung up with you!’
Cristabel laughed softly. ‘He would be a very fortunate hombre,’ she said. ‘Though his days might be full of chatter his nights would be full of love! And I tell you this, Bodie, when Cristabel loves there is no time for talk!’
‘Yeah?’ Bodie forked hot bacon on to a tin plate and passed it to Cristabel. ‘I don’t doubt a word you’ve spoken. So work yourself up some loving for that slice of bacon and maybe it’ll quiet you down for a spell!’
As soon as the meal was over Cristabel set to clearing away the utensils, leaving Bodie alone. He pulled a wrapped bundle from his saddlebags and unrolled it on the ground in front of him. Then he stripped down his Winchester and gave it a thorough cleaning. He lightly oiled the moving parts from a small bottle, reassembled the rifle and reloaded it. He took out his Colt and gave it the same treatment, making sure that every moving part was in good order, that there were no worn edges. Again he used the oil, put the big revolver back together and placed the wiped cartridges in the cylinder. Finally he slipped out the heavy-bladed knife and sat for long minutes sharpening the blade on a stone from his cleaning kit.
He was unaware of Cristabel’s close scrutiny of his routine. She watched in silence, transfixed by the businesslike way he dealt with his weapons. There was something almost frightening in his way of handling the guns and the deadly knife. She had seen him use them, but it was only now, seeing the way he lovingly tended them, almost as if they were alive, having some existence of their own, that she realized just how dangerous this man was. He was a killer of men. A professional gun. A pistolero. A man not to be trifled with. Cristabel was very grateful to be on his good side. She would not have liked it if he was her enemy — the fact that she was a woman would not make that much difference to Bodie. Of that she was sure.
Bodie packed away his gear and shook out his blankets.
‘Could be a cold night,’ he said.
A slow smile warmed Cristabel’s face. ‘I do not think we will have any problems, Bodie. I know how to keep a man warm at night. We both have our professions, hombre! You are good at what you do, but, Bodie, I excel at mine.’
And Bodie found out that she was telling the truth.
She excelled far beyond any expectations he might have had. He didn’t have any problems at all with the cold, quite the opposite. Bodie had never given thought as to just how warm two people could get under a couple of blankets ...
They moved off at first light, easily picking up the trail left by Linc Fargo and his bunch. The route Fargo had chosen was different to the one he’d used on the way up.
It was steeper, less than easy, but it got them down into the foothills a damn sight faster than the previous route would have. Late in the day, as they rode along a dusty ridge, Bodie, found he was picking out recognizable landmarks. He figured that Adobe lay no more than three or four hours off.
What he hadn’t figured on was the storm rolling in from the north. Great dark clouds came looming into sight. Fat and swollen with rain, they seemed to race across the already gloomy sky, pushed along by a cold wind.
‘Hell, that’s all we need,’ Bodie grumbled. He hunched round in his saddle and sat watching the bloated clouds.
‘We will not reach Adobe first, Bodie?’ Cristabel asked.
He laughed. ‘Not ’less we sprout wings and fly. Like it or not, we are going to get good and wet.’
The storm hit about an hour later. The evening sky blackened and down came the rain. There was no gentle build-up, just a sudden downpour that drove in at them with numbing force. The cold wind added further discomfort. Lashing sheets of bitter rain struck them, soaking their clothing in seconds. Bodie dragged his slicker from behind the saddle and thrust it into Cristabel’s hands.
‘What about you?’ she asked.
Bodie dragged his hat tight down over his eyes. ‘Just put it on,’ was all he said, and the tone of his voice warned Cristabel not to argue further.
The foothills became waterlogged as the rain filled every stream and creek to overflowing. Foaming water s rushed from the higher slopes, cascading over rocks and the very banks of the streams. The dry earth soaked up the rain, softened and turned to mud.
Bodie found that his horse was finding it hard going.
He swung out of the saddle, hanging on to the reins, and began to lead the stumbling horse. His feet sank into the sticky mud, adding to the difficulty. of walking. The driving rain stung his body through sodden, clammy clothes.
He ached, and he was cold and hungry.
He was aware, too, that the storm was going to slow his progress considerably. His chances of catching up with Linc Fargo were lessened. The time he had gained was quickly being lost, the gap widening, giving Fargo a better opportunity.
Bodie didn’t fret about the matter for too long. There was no point. The weather had changed, the rain was here, and there wasn’t a 'damn thing he could do about it. So effort expended in worrying over it was sheer waste. He could curse all through the night, but it wouldn’t make the slightest difference.
He simply walked on, leading his horse in the direction of Adobe. Enveloped in his slicker Cristabel clung to the jolting saddle, shivering against the cold, her eyes fixed firmly on Bodie’s broad back. She had never been so miserable in her whole life. Wet and uncomfortable, hardly daring to hope that the rain might eventually stop, she tried to concentrate on pleasanter things. She did her best to relive the passion of the previous night. Holding Bodie’s hard-muscled body to her own, feeling the urgent thrust of his penetrating hardness drive deeply into her own swollen, moist flesh. Gripping him with her supple, naked thighs. Feeling the fluttering ripples of pleasure rise in her belly, her hot flesh clinging to his as she twisted and squirmed and writhed. Her soft moans growing louder.
Strong hips and taut buttocks lunging up to meet his powerful strokes. The grip of his hands on her exposed breasts, fondling, stroking, toying with her stiff, jutting nipples. Then her frantic moans turning to shuddering cries as the heat rose in her, swelling, expanding, until she could contain it no longer, and it burst, flooding her body with the long awaited release, letting it overwhelm her, paralyze her. An eternity of sensual feeling, slowly fading, slipping away, leaving her limp and drained, and fulfilled ... Cristabel gripped the hard saddle with her thighs, feeling a warm swell of longing rise in” her groin. She became aware of erect nipples rubbing against the damp material of her blouse. Her foolish dreaming had only made things worse for her. She wriggled uncomfortably in the saddle but the tantalizing sensation would not go away. She stared hard at Bodie’s back, wishing desperately that she had him against her. Cristabel sighed. She slipped a hand beneath her skirt and touched the tangled softness of pubic hair, her fingers easing down through it to the moist, eager flesh below. It had been a long time since she had done this to herself, but it was a long way to Adobe, and Cristabel could not wait.
Chapter Ten
The storm became worse during the long night. Reluctantly Bodie sought out a place where they could take shelter, and he and Cristabel spent a cold, damp night, huddled together under his damp blankets, with his sl
icker spread over the top to keep out the torrential rain. The place he had found was no more than a wide overhang of
rock. It did not protect them completely but it was the best Bodie could do in the circumstances. They slept fitfully and roused themselves in the bleak light of early dawn.
Even now the rain still fell, the wind gusting in under the overhang.
‘Let’s go,’ Bodie said. He slid from under the blankets, hunching his shoulders as he moved out from the overhang. His soaked horse turned its head to stare at him mournfully, as if blaming him for the weather and its discomfort. ‘No good looking at me like that, horse,’ Bodie muttered. ‘It ain’t anything to do with me!’ He checked saddle and gear, then jerked an impatient arm in Cristabel’s direction. ‘You coming?’
‘Si — I am coming, impatient one,’ she scowled at him, stumbling across the muddy ground. She flung the rolled up blankets at him.
Bodie managed a tight smile as he tied the blankets in place behind the saddle. By the time he’d finished Cristabel had struggled into the slicker. Bodie swung up into the saddle and hoisted her up behind him. She clamped her arms about his body tightly.
‘Then let us go! ’ she demanded hotly.
They left the final slopes of the foothills behind them mid-morning. Bodie reined the horse about and put it on the trail to Adobe. just on noon they sighted the ugly cluster of buildings through the mist of falling rain, Smoke rose from chimneys, rising briefly before it was whipped away by the wind. On the outskirts of the town Bodie reined in.
‘Find your own way in,’ he said to Cristabel.
She slid to the ground. Moving to his side she stared up at him, her brown face wet with rain, dark hair tangled and tossed by the wind. Reaching up she laid a slim hand on his thigh.
