by Neil Hunter
The second Apache slid from his pony the moment it touched the ground and spun on his heels, coming face to face with a terrified Kate Hanna. As the Apache drove at her with his long lance Kate leveled her Colt, held in both hands, and blasted the Indian’s face away with a single shot, flinching as a bloody spray splattered her dress.
The attack seemed to go on forever. The Apaches rode back and forth across the ground before the mission and the defenders returned the deafening rattle of gunfire.
And then, as with the first attack, this one stopped. Almost as if by some secret, prearranged signal. The Apaches fell back, the firing ceased, and both sides counted the cost.
The Apaches had lost four. The two who had got over the wall and two more who lay some distance from the mission wall.
Inside the plaza there had been no more loss of life. There were some minor wounds. Eli Colton had a bullet-graze across one side of his face. Irve Dunker had a deep cut across the back of his left hand where flying adobe had cut him.
It was only when he relaxed that Cord felt the stinging pain from a graze along his left shoulder. Blood had soaked through his shirt. It was more of an irritant than anything else and he ignored it.
He had more pressing problems on his mind and so it seemed had Ben Shelby as he crossed the plaza to join Cord.
For a moment the two men faced each other silently, weighing the other up. Both knew the other man’s reputation and they would treat each other accordingly.
‘I don’t figure this sits any better with you than it does with me,’ Shelby said suddenly.
‘Ain’t the way I’d have dealt the hand.’
Shelby grinned. ‘Hell of a deal, though.’
‘You figuring on the same as me?’ Cord asked.
‘A truce until this is settled?’
Cord glanced out across to where the Apaches were grouped. ‘Might not be anything to pick up when it’s over.’
‘Yeah? Well, we’ll sort that out come the time. Look, Cord, I got no liking for you, and I don’t aim to give you a chance to take me in, so you watch your back once this deal’s over.’
‘I aim to.’
‘We’ll leave it at that then.’
‘One thing,’ Cord said.
‘Say it.’
‘Leave the women alone,’ he said and there was no mistaking the threat in his tone. ‘I see any of your bunch so much as look the wrong way I’ll blow a hole right through him!’
Shelby tried to look grieved. ‘They’ll behave like virgins.’
‘I’d like the women to stay that way too,’ Cord said.
Shelby grinned. ‘Hell, man, that all depends on how they started out.’
As he watched the outlaw walk away a wry grin touched Cord’s lips as he thought of Kate Hanna. He had to admit that Shelby had a point!
He got Kate and the other two women to collect all the foodstuffs from various saddlebags and to take it inside the mission building. He made them collect all the canteens as well and instructed Kate to get a fire going. It wasn’t long before the aroma of brewing coffee wafted out across the dusty plaza.
Kate brought a mug out to Cord. ‘I’d say there’s enough food for three days at the most if we go easy,’ she said.
Cord didn’t answer straightaway. He was watching the two other women passing out mugs of coffee to Shelby’s men. It was a hell of a situation. Damned explosive. It would have been bad enough just having to deal with the Apaches but to have Shelby and his bunch as partners in the fight, plus the need to keep his eyes on the women, that was almost too much to handle. Cord tasted his coffee. It wasn’t bad -he somehow knew that Kate had made it. A thought struck him. Murdoch was getting his money’s worth out of the deal. Cord wondered for a moment whether he’d made the right decision. Maybe he’d have been better off back in Yuma; but the second the thought entered his head he knew the answer. A thousand Ben Shelby’s types, or even wild Apaches, were a damn sight more favorable than even one day in the hell hole called Yuma Pen.
‘Is it true what they said about you?’ Kate asked suddenly.
He remembered the way she’d looked at him at the time it had been revealed but she’d held her silence then. Since then he had been expecting her to ask but events hadn’t given them much of a chance to talk.
‘I was a lawman,’ he said. ‘And I did kill a man for personal reasons. And they put me in Yuma for it.’
Kate touched his arm. ‘I’ve heard say it’s a bad place.’
Matthew Cord smiled, memory adding bitterness to his expression. ‘You believe it.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘For what?’ He handed her the empty mug.
‘You must have gone through a lot in that place.’
‘According to the law I deserved it.’
She smiled. ‘I haven’t known you long, Matthew Cord, but I’ve learned enough to realize you’re not like them,’ and she glanced across at Ben Shelby’s bunch. ‘You’re a hard man. Violent, too, and you scare the hell out of me most of the time, but I’d stand off those Apaches with just you rather than Ben Shelby and his pack of dogs.’
Her hatred of Ben Shelby showed in every word and Cord figured that if those words could have killed his job would be over by now.
‘How are we going to get out of this?’ she asked and Cord thought she expected him to provide an instant solution.
‘Just before dark we’re all going to sprout wings and fly off,’ he said sarcastically.
The familiar angry gleam flashed in her eyes. ‘Smart mouth.’
Cord took her arm and led her to the mission. Inside the shadowed building he put down his mug, then drew her to him firmly. He kissed her hard, feeling the quick response from her. Breathless she drew back from him and stared at him for a long time, her head slightly on one side as if she were pondering some problem.
‘I get the feeling you don’t want to answer that question,’ she said. She’d realized, as he had, that there was no easy solution. The Apaches had them boxed in neatly, and could most probably out-wait them. There was the chance, too, that the Apaches might send for reinforcements.
Kate Hanna knew a bad situation when she saw one. They were trapped here, with little food or water, limited ammunition, and the one way out blocked off. She’d figured that her life back in Gray’s Creek had been reaching a dead end. Right now it seemed like all that life could offer would be the same. Then she looked at Matthew Cord, and his lean, brown face, so hard, yet somehow dependable, and wiped away her fears. Kate sighed and reached up to kiss him quickly.
‘Oh, what the hell, Matthew Cord, if we do have to go we’ll give those damned Apaches the dusting of their miserable lives.’
Ten
Darkness came and the Apaches had made no more attacks. They made camp, well out of rifle-range, and simply sat watching the mission. It was a classic Apache tactic. The Apache loved nothing more than unnerving their opponents, letting them wonder why there was no attack, letting them sweat, letting them become jittery, so that when the Apache did launch their assault they would face an unsettled defense.
Matthew Cord knew the tactic well. It made no difference to him at all. Nor did he think it was going to bother Shelby’s bunch. Even so they worked out a watch rota. It wasn’t beyond the Apaches to launch a night attack, sneaking in silently during the dark hours. Cord had fought the Apache for most of his adult life. He knew their ways and he fought them on their own terms. It was the only way if a man wanted to stay alive.
He drew the early-morning watch and turned in after the meal the women prepared. Kate settled in her blanket close by, exhausted, and was asleep in a couple of minutes. Watching her Cord felt a momentary rise of desire for her but they were not alone like they had been that first night.
When he settled down he found sleep eluding him. Kate’s questions had roused his memory of his time in Yuma again. It was still fresh enough to be clear in his mind and for some reason he found he was reliving that day when the man named M
urdoch came to see him.
~*~
A couple of guards had taken him to the prison governor’s office. The governor himself wasn’t there. In his place sat a tall, bleak-faced man with eyes that bored right through Matthew Cord. The man was dressed in a black suit. Under the coat he wore a white shirt and a black tie. The hands that rested on the top of the governor’s desk were long and slender, almost feminine, yet they gave the impression of great power. Minutes passed. Cord watched the man and the man watched Cord. Finally the man moved. He reached into his coat and took out a folded document. He unfolded it and laid it on the desk, turning it round so that Cord could read it.
‘Figure you’ve been in here long enough?’ the man asked. His voice was low, controlled, and his eyes watched Cord closely, searching for a reaction.
Cord wasn’t too sure how to take this stranger. He wondered what the man wanted. But somewhere at the back of his mind he sensed that this man represented a way out of Yuma and if that was so, then Cord wasn’t about to do anything that might spoil his chances.
‘Name’s Murdoch,’ the man said and he spoke in such a way that it might have explained everything. ‘If it matters I figure you got a raw deal. There are others who think the way you do—that too many of the trigger-happy bastards roaming the West are getting away with murder. Literally. Trouble is there are too many damn soft-hearted reformers screaming the other way. So a special team of ex-lawmen, much like yourself has been put together and the president himself gave us the final go-ahead. There’s too much going on for the normal lawmen to handle—the way it needs handling. So we figured to set up an operation to deal with the situation.’
Matthew Cord began to get interested then, although he began to suspect he was about to be invited to become a one-man execution squad. It wasn’t the most tasteful deal he might have cared for but he knew damn well if it was offered he’d take it.
‘The deal is this, Cord. You want out of here. That can be arranged. Agree to my terms and you collect your gear and leave tomorrow. There’ll be a horse ready and waiting and money in your pocket.’
Cord spoke for the first time since he entered the governor’s office.
‘Who do I have to kill to get all that?’
‘Just whoever you’re told to. Let’s get one thing straight, Cord. You’ll be going after the worst scum in the West. The real bad hombres. No two-bit horse thieves or bunko-artists. I myself put you forward for this job because in my eyes you’re as hard a bastard as any who’s ever rode the West, and that’s what’s needed to wipe out these sons-of-bitches!’
Matthew Cord picked up the document Murdoch had laid on the desk. It was a free and clear pardon. It had already been signed and sealed by the president himself. Cord glanced over the top of the paper.
‘You’re a pretty good gambler, Murdoch,’ he said. ‘All signed and sealed before you even came!’
Murdoch shrugged. ‘Poker always was my game and I win most pots on a bluff!’
‘Then bluff me out of here then, mister, and fast.’ Cord tossed the document back on the desk. ‘Who has the honor of being my first customer?’
‘You heard of Ben Shelby and his bunch?’
‘Who hasn’t.’ Cord knew Shelby’s bunch well enough. They were mean killers, far-ranging and there was little they wouldn’t do for a profit. ‘You know where they are?’
‘Not too far away,’ Murdoch said. ‘Somewhere in New Mexico. Cord, I want ’em wiped out!’
‘You fussy how?’
Murdoch smiled almost wolfishly. His teeth were large and white against his brown face. ‘I don’t give a damn if you drag ’em back on the end of a rope.’
‘Just a thought, Murdoch, but what happens if I get in a jam?’
The wolf-grin widened. ‘Why then you get yourself out of it, mister. You figure to be good, then prove it. Don’t yell for me, ‘cause I’ll swear I don’t know a damn thing about you.’
Cord nodded. ‘Do the dirty work but don’t expect us to help wipe your hands.’
Murdoch agreed. ‘It’s a mean world, Cord.’
‘It’s a world that turns its back on you and throws away the key.’
He crossed over and stood looking out of the window. He stared out over the baked prison compound, watching the listless figures moving back and forth; they would walk miles in a day some of those men and get nowhere. He knew that he couldn’t face another day out there. He’d had enough and if the situation had forced him into serving more time he knew he would have tried to break out. He spotted the armed guards pacing the top of the wall and he knew that even with them up there he would have tried.
Oddly enough he knew that Murdoch’s offer was just as likely to get him killed. He’d be going up against some of the worst scum in the country, men who had even less regard for human life than either Warner or the rest of the prison warders put together. But at least he’d be facing those men on his own ground, on his terms, with a gun in his hand, and that made the difference. A hell of a difference! Cord accepted that he’d be on his own, maybe facing more than one man at a time but that fact didn’t worry him. He’d been on his own for most of his life, depending on no one but himself. Early on he’d learned that dependence on others made a man weak. If he supported himself in all aspects he knew just where he stood and at any given time he knew his exact capabilities.
His release came the next day. There was no mention of Murdoch or why he was being released. Cord was taken once again into the governor’s office and allowed to put on his own clothing. The governor himself, tight-lipped and obviously out of the picture, handed Cord his personal effects, his gun, and handed over the release-papers. The whole episode was carried out with the minimum of fuss and hardly a word spoken. There was the promised horse waiting at the gate. Cord strapped on his weapon, mounted up, and rode out of Yuma Pen without a backward glance.
It felt good to be outside those grim walls and a sense of release washed over him as Cord rode down into Yuma. He reined in at the first saloon and went inside. At the crowded bar he ordered a beer. The sounds around him were almost overwhelming after the silence of the prison. Even the smell of the saloon was strong and Cord realized it was going to take a day or two for him to completely adjust to normal, everyday experiences.
He paid for his beer and turned away from the bar, looking out across the crowded saloon, and found himself looking into the face of Warner, the guard from Yuma. Sitting with Warner was another guard named Feeny.
The two men, still in their uniforms, were seated alone at a table, a whisky bottle between them. Feeny was staring at Cord with a blank expression on his wide, brutish face. But Warner was grinning—it was the same look he had on his face when he was beating helpless prisoners, and the sight of it brought Matthew Cord’s anger to the boil.
As if on cue Reb Warner stood up and walked over to where Cord stood.
‘Either you’re stupid—or you’ve got more guts than you ought to have comin’ in here,’ he said.
Cord drained his beer. ‘Free man can choose to go where he pleases.’
A grunt of laughter burst from Warner’s slack mouth. ‘Free man. Cord, you’re a lying bastard.’
Cord pulled out the release papers and shoved them under Warner’s nose. ‘I figure even a dumbass like you can recognize what they are.’
Warner read the papers. He glanced at Cord, his eyes dark with suspicion. ‘How the hell did you swing that?’
A faint smile touched Cord’s lips. ‘I got friends,’ he said. ‘Something a pig like you wouldn’t know about.’ He took the papers out of Warner’s fingers and put them away.
‘By God, Cord,’ Warner yelled, his impatience bursting free. ‘I’d have broke you, mister, if I’d still got you in the Pen. I damn well know it.’
‘Warner, you’re no good without that prison to back you up. You come over pretty tough when it comes to kicking round a man who daren’t hit back—but out here you’re just a bag of horseshit.’
Warner’s face purpled with rage. He lunged forward, his right hand reaching for the weighted club he carried in his belt. He never even touched it. Matthew Cord’s right fist smashed into his face and that fist still held the heavy beer-glass. Reb Warner grunted as the force of the blow snapped his head back. Before the guard could recover, Cord tossed aside the glass and stepped in close, his hard fists smashing blow after blow to Warner’s face and body. There was a lot of hate, a lot of pent up frustration in the savage beating that Matthew Cord handed out. A blow to the jaw slammed Warner to the saloon floor. He lay for a moment, spraying blood as he shook his head. Then he got his feet under him and staggered upright. He lunged at Cord again, huge fists slashing the empty air. Cord let him get right in close, then eased to one side, grabbing hold of Warner’s bloodstained coat. Using the man’s own momentum he slammed him headfirst into the solid wood front of the saloon’s bar. Warner crumpled like a sack of dumped flour.
Cord turned to look at Feeny. The other guard was still sitting down. He shook his head at Cord. ‘No trouble, Cord,’ Feeny said. ‘I don’t aim to mix with you. Reb had it coming.’ He stood up and crossed to where Warner lay. He stared down at Warner’s bloody face, then he looked at Cord. ‘He won’t forget this.’
Matthew Cord smiled coldly. ‘That was the whole idea,’ he said. ‘I don’t want him to forget. I might pass through Yuma again one day. You tell him that, Feeny. Just do that for me.’ And then he turned and walked out of the saloon, rode out of Yuma, and started his search for Ben Shelby and his bunch.
Eleven
In the grey light of dawn Cord rolled out of his blanket and went outside. There was a chill in the air. He hefted his rifle across one shoulder as he crossed the silent plaza and met Ben Shelby coming the other way.
‘Like a damned graveyard,’ Shelby said, ‘but they’re out there.’
‘They’re playing the waiting game.’ Cord gazed out over the mission wall. ‘They know we can’t get out so they figure to sit and let us sweat.’
