Blood on the Hills

by Matt Chisholm

  It was now or never.

  Jody lifted a spadeful of sand, whirled and sent it into Morrison’s face. He didn’t wait to see its effect, but went after Meakin. The man turned and Jody hit him high with the flat of the spade. At the same time he yelled at the top of his voice. If there was a rider out there, he didn’t hear him.

  Maybe he was faced with two armed men with nothing but a spade in his hands. He must keep moving. He drove his aching body to its zenith.

  Morrison was yelling and wiping sand from his eyes with one hand while he pulled at his belt-gun with the other. Jody whirled on him and drove at him with the spade. The tool took the man high, maybe in the face and drove him backward. The fellow tripped and fell. Jody dodged around behind the horses and they skittered this way and that.

  Meakin was yelling: “Kill him, kill him.”

  Jody heard the horse. It was coming at a run. He had never heard a sweeter sound in all his life.

  He got his hand on the butt of a rifle in a saddleboot and heaved on it. Morrison was fighting his way through the loose sand, gun in hand. Jody hit the horse with the butt of the rifle and the animal jumped forward in alarm, tried to dodge Morrison, failed and sent him sprawling. Jody levered a round into the breech of the rifle.

  Meakin fired.

  Morrison cried out and Jody knew the bullet had narrowly missed him.

  The horseman was now nearing the arroyo. Jody heard the man shout something. The voice sounded familiar. Jody dodged behind a horse to get the animal between him and Meakin and ran in on Morrison. As the man started to his feet, Jody drove the butt of the rifle into his belly as hard as he could. The man collapsed with a sound like a giant deflated balloon.

  The horse above had halted and a man came scrambling down the side of the arroyo.

  Meakin turned and fired at him.

  Jody called out: “Drop it, Meakin.”

  The man swore despairingly. He threw his gun down.

  “Christ,” he said, “an’ we almost had you buried.” He sounded as if he wanted to weep.

  Jody put his rifle to Morrison’s head and said: “Get up.” The man rose slowly to his feet and Jody prodded him in the direction of Meakin.

  “My,” said Bret, “you sure go where the action is.”

  “Don’t I just,” said Jody. “How the hell did you get here?”

  “Lou came down to the jail and told Froud what happened,” Bret explained. “Charlie couldn’t ride and somebody had to save your hide. Froud decided to take a gamble on me.”

  “Just as well he did,” Jody said.

  He felt terrible and he wanted nothing but to sit down. So he sat down. He held the rifle while Bret took a rope from a horse and tied the two men with a line between them. Then they mounted them and Jody crawled into the saddle. They walked the horses out of the arroyo to Bret’s horse and the cowhand mounted. Then they headed for town.

  Jody told himself: This is it. I don’t want no more of this. Soon’s Froud’s on his feet, I ride.

  He dozed in the saddle and thought of home, ma’s cooking and pa smoking his pipe on the stoop. Why the hell did he ever want to leave home?

  Chapter Sixteen

  Froud said: “You bring in any more prisoners, Jode, an’ this here jail is goin’ to bust at the seams.”

  Battered, Jody sat behind his desk and drank a little whiskey. It wouldn’t do him any good, but it fooled him he felt good.

  “Just one more, Froud,” he said. “This time, I take Charlie an’ Bret along.”

  “Tired of bein’ hero?” Froud asked dryly.

  “Just tired,” said Jody.

  It was near dawn. He felt as if he hadn’t slept in a thousand years. He’d bring in Shafter, then he’d call it a day. He rose and said: “Let’s go. Consuelo, bar the street door behind us.”

  Froud said: “Shatter’s a snake, Jode. He ain’t goin’ to be took easy.”

  Bret said; “Morrison and Meakin didn’t report back. Maybe Shafter lit out.”

  “We’ll soon know,” Jody said.

  They walked out onto the street. As they approached the Rest, Jody said: “Charlie, you cover the front with your greener. Bret you go in through the saloon. Take up a position where you can watch the saloon and the diner. I’m goin’ around the rear.”

  He walked into the alleyway. Dawn was starting to break. There was a chill in the air. Jody knew that the cold in his bones came mostly through sheer exhaustion. His wound was aching and his head was throbbing. Sleep, he thought.

  There was no light showing at the rear of the building.

  When he opened the door, he could hear the sound as if it were loud enough to fill the whole world. Hardly a sound came from the saloon. Even the world of drink reached its lowest ebb around dawn. The passageway was filling with gray light.

  The door of the office was open.

  He stepped inside and saw a heavy-shouldered man at the desk. At the sound of his entry, the man turned.

  “You.”

  The man wasn’t Shafter. It was the cattleman who was also a county commissioner.

  “Where’s Shafter?” Jody asked.

  “How should I know?”

  “You’re sittin’ at his desk,” Jody said.

  The man turned the revolving chair so he faced Jody. He looked grim, tough and slightly nervous, as if he had been caught in the act of doing something he shouldn’t do.

  “I’m sitting at my desk,” he said.

  “You bought this place?”

  “Cash on the nail,” the man said.

  “Where’d a man find that kind of money at this time of the mornin’?”

  “I bought cheap. Shafter’s moving out fast. I gave him a promissory note.”

  “On a bank?”

  “Yes, if it’s any business of yours.”

  “Where at?”

  “El Paso, Texas.”

  Jody groaned mentally. He saw himself in the saddle on the long trail to El Paso. One thing certainly led to another.

  “How long since Shafter was in this room?” Jody asked.

  “I don’t remember.”

  “An hour? Fifteen minutes?”

  “I don’t remember.”

  He’s still around, Jody thought.

  He left the room and walked into the saloon. The sleepy barkeep was polishing glasses, waiting for the day-man to take over. Two men were slumped across a table. Four men played cards in a corner. Bret stood in the doorway between the diner and the saloon. The whole place was full of the stench of stale drink fumes and tobacco smoke.

  Jody crossed to Bret and said: “Go cover the rear, Bret.”

  The cowhand moved off.

  Jody went into the diner. There was nobody but the Chinese who was sharpening a knife. He was sweating.

  “Seen Shafter?” Jody asked.

  “No savvy,” the man said, shaking his head vigorously.

  Jody walked through the doorway at the rear and reached the foot of the stairs. He listened and heard nothing. He had a nasty feeling that there was a bullet waiting for him up there.

  “Lou,” he called, “you up there?”

  Silence.

  He started up the stairs. At the top, he paused a moment and then went to the window at the front of the house and saw Charlie standing on the opposite side of the street with his shot~ gun in his hands. Charlie saw him and nodded. Then Jody walked to the rear of the place and looked out. Bret was standing back from the building with a rifle in his hands. From where he was, he could cover the alleyway.

  Jody found he didn’t like the situation at all. Shafter was up here and he was cornered. Jody could get himself killed.

  He tramped down the corridor and gingerly opened the door to Lou’s room. It was empty. There was no sign that she had left. A dress lay across the bed as if waiting to be worn.

  “Lou,” he called, “you around?”

  He heard a muffled scuffle of movement.

  He darted into the corridor and listened. It came fr
om Shafter’s own room.

  He heard the girl scream: “No, no… no… No!”

  Glass shattered and a shot boomed in the close confines of a room. He backed up and charged the door. He burst into the room and saw Shafter turning from the window with a smoking rifle in his hands. In that same second, the heavy vase was smashed over Shafter’s head. He saw the man’s legs wobble under him. He rolled up his eyes and the rifle clattered noisily to the floor.

  The girl stood with the hair over her eyes, white to the lips, her eyes wide with wonder and fright.

  Shafter was conscious, down on his hands and knees. A gash showed in the top of his head.

  “He would have killed Bret,” the girl said. Then her legs started to wobble.

  “Don’t you dare faint,” Jody said. “This ain’t the time.”

  She sat down on the floor and burst into tears.

  Jody picked up the rifle and looked out. Bret was kneeling on the ground with his rifle pointed at the window.

  “Hold your fire,” Jody yelled urgently, not wanting to be shot by his own side.

  Bret stood up.

  “Lou all right?” he shouted.

  “Yeah. Come on up. Tell Charlie, we’re comin’ out.”

  Shafter had joined his daughter in tears.

  “My own daughter,” he whispered. “My own flesh and blood.”

  “You’re breakin’ my heart,” Jody told him.

  “He would have killed Bret,” the girl kept saying.

  Jody yawned enormously. He wondered if Bret would arrive before he fell asleep. He sat on the bed and watched Shafter get dazedly to his feet.

  He looked at Jody uncomprehendingly.

  “I can’t understand it,” he said. “I offered you a good deal.”

  “I don’t understand it either,” Jody told him. “So that makes two of us.”

  Bret came pounding up the stairs. In a moment he burst into the room and Lou was in his arms, sobbing.

  “My own flesh and blood,” said Shafter.

  “So you said,” Jody muttered. He stood up. “Walk ahead of me down to the jail.”

  Shafter went ahead of him. Out on the street, Charlie was waiting for them. He hobbled alongside Jody.

  “Maybe this is the end of it,” he grumbled. “We had a nice peaceful life here till you come along.”

  “Sure,” said Jody. “I robbed the bank and shot people.”

  They reached the jail and shouted till Consuelo came and nervously opened the door. They shoved Shafter in front of Froud.

  The sheriff grinned.

  “So this is the one,” he said. “I’m glad it’s you, Shafter. I never could stand the sight of your smug face.”

  “You don’t have a thing on me,” Shafter said. “Not a thing a good defense lawyer can’t shake.”

  Froud smiled.

  “When we tell Shawn what you aimed to do,” he said, “you think Shawn’s goin’ to keep his mouth shut? You tried to kill him, you tried to take over. Tell you what, Jode, put ‘em both in the same cell.”

  “Good idea,” said Jody.

  Shafter showed extreme terror.

  “No,” he cried, “for the love of God. He’ll kill me.”

  “I reckon he will at that,” Froud said.

  Jody shoved him toward the cells and put him in with Morrison and Meakin. Shawn came to the bars.

  “Jode,” he said, “is that true what Froud said?”

  “Every word. This boy tried to kill you an’ take over, Shawn.”

  Shawn turned and looked at Shafter.

  Shafter said: “It’s all lies. They’re trying to turn you against me, Shawn.”

  Shawn smiled unpleasantly.

  “Morrison and Meakin talked to me,” he said. “I know what you did, Shafter. If I swing, you swing with me.”

  Jody walked out of the cell-block and closed the door behind him. The sound of Shafter shouting his denials was in his ears.

  Suddenly, it was all over. He felt drained.

  He sat down behind the desk and put his feet on it. Froud didn’t say anything. Bret and Lou walked in. His arm was around her.

  “So you tidied up all the loose ends,” Froud said.

  “There’s some small fry still around,” Jody said. “Somebody else can bring them in.”

  “Well,” said Froud, “you didn’t do so bad, all things considered. Though I would maybe have done it in half the time.”

  “Remember,” Jody said, “you was fool enough to get yourself shot. If you’d of acted sensible none of this would of happened.”

  “I’ll forgive the ingratitude, you’re tired, boy.”

  Charlie growled out: “For oncet in your life, Froud, you shut your loud mouth. The boy done better’n a man could dream.”

  Jody looked at him in amazement.

  Froud looked grim—“When I’m up an’ around, Charlie.”

  “If Consuelo wasn’t here I’d tell you what you could do. What you aim to do now, Jode?”

  “Take my pay an’ ride,” said Jody. “After I sleep a coupla days.”

  “I could use a deputy,” said Froud.

  “Use Bret.”

  Froud looked at Bret.

  Lou said: “No, sir, we aim to trade cows not bullets.” Bret grinned: “I reckon that settles it, Air Froud.” They all looked at Jody, but he had fallen asleep.

  Froud was sitting on the edge of his bed, pale, but recovered. He was fully dressed and he looked almost as good as new. Consuelo stood by, smiling. As Jody came in from the street, Froud looked up.

  “All set, boy?” he said.

  “All set,” said Jody.

  There were shuffling steps on the sidewalk and Jody knew that Charlie was approaching. When he came into the office, he had a newspaper in his hands. Without a word, he handed it to Jody.

  The Dujane Clarion said the title. Under it was a headline:

  BOY DEPUTY CAPTURES KILLERS

  He read on: “...this dauntless peace officer, single-handedly ...” the words warn before his eyes.

  “Aw, shucks,” he said.

  “Keep it,” said Charlie.

  “I’ll say adios,” Jody said to Froud.

  The sheriff used Consuelo as a prop and heaved himself to his feet. “I’ll come see you go,” he said. And as they paced slowly to the door, he added: “Well, boy, I hope you learned somethin’ from the way I work.”

  “Not a damn thing,” Jody said. “I hope you’re smart enough to hang on to the men I caught for you.”

  Consuelo giggled and Froud glared at her. On the sidewalk, Froud held out his hand and he and Jody shook. Consuelo stood on tiptoe and kissed him. He kissed her.

  “Ain’t he a kid for takin’ liberties?” Froud demanded of the world. “Ain’t no thin’ sacred to him?”

  Charlie and Jody shook. Bret came across the street with Lou in his arm.

  “So it all turned out all right in the end,” Lou said.

  “Sure,” said Jody. Men lay dead and her father was in jail and it had all turned out all right in the end. He and Bret shook hands.

  “Sometime when you’re down this way ...” Bret said. “I wish you could stay for the weddin’.”

  “Pressin’ family business,” said Jody and stepped into the saddle. He lifted a hand, but he didn’t smile because he didn’t feel like smiling. He thought he saw a glisten of moisture in Consuelo’s eyes. Froud looked as grim as ever. Charlie winked. Jody lifted the lines and headed down the street. At the end of it, he turned and waved. They all waved back.

  When he reached the ridge above town, he stopped and looked back. It looked like any other Arizonan frontier town. Nothing more than a village really. The smoke from the cook-fires rose lazily on the hot air. Just an ordinary town, but it brought him through a kind of hell of violence that had sickened some part of him. It had made him grow up some, but he didn’t want any more of the same kind of medicine. That wasn’t what life was about.

  He rode on, leaning back and stuffing the ne
wspaper into a saddlebag. He reckoned he would leave it around when he reached Three Creeks just so the family could come on it. By accident like.

  That made him smile a little.

  About the Author

  Peter Christopher Watts was born in London, England in 1919 and died on Nov. 30, 1983. He was educated in art schools in England, then served with the British Amy in Burma from 1940 to 1946.

  Peter Watts, the author of more than 150 novels, is better known by his pen names of "Matt Chisholm" and "Cy James". He published his first western novel under the Matt Chisholm name in 1958 (Halfbreed). He began writing the "McAllister" series in 1963 with The Hard Men, and that series ran to 35 novels. He followed that up with the "Storm" series. And used the Cy James name for his "Spur" series.

  Under his own name, Peter Watts wrote Out of Yesterday, The Long Night Through, and Scream and Shout. He wrote both fiction and nonfiction books, including the very useful nonfiction reference work, A Dictionary of the Old West (Knopf, 1977).

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