Savage Gun (A Piccadilly Publishing Western Book 13)

by Neil Hunter

  Her face flamed with anger. That man’s hurt,’ she said. ‘He needs help!’

  ‘Colton? He’s dead and we ain’t got time to bury our dead. Now keep moving.’ He pushed her before him, conscious of her anger, but not caring. He wanted her alive, angry or not. There was nothing they could do for Colton. If he wasn’t dead already from that wound he would be in a few minutes.

  He heard a drum of hooves behind him. Without looking to see who it was Cord ran forward and threw himself at Kate. He struck her hard and they crashed to the ground. She was beneath him, her strong body struggling fiercely. The hoof beats grew loud and a pony flashed by. A gun blasted almost in Cord’s face. He felt the bullet rip a burning gash across one shoulder, felt the hot rush of blood soak his shirt. Then he rolled off Kate, rising to one knee, lifting his rifle as the mounted Apache turned his pony and came at him. The Apache held a single-shot rifle and he was thumbing a fresh shell into the breech as he put his pony at Cord.

  Cord swung up his rifle, firing from the hip. He was rewarded with a solid click that told him the weapon was empty. Even as the sound registered he was running forward to meet the approaching Apache. He ducked low, under the Apache’s rifle in the moment it fired, and then he swung his own rifle, using it as a club. The solid stock caught the Apache across the chest, driving him off his pony. The Apache hit the ground hard, the wiry body seeming to bounce, and in an instant the Apache was on his feet again. He’d lost his rifle in the fall. Now a broad-bladed knife appeared in his hand and he hurled himself at Cord.

  The familiar boom of a handgun sounded close by. Cord winced at the nearness of the blast. A second shot followed. The Apache was stopped in mid-air, as if he was on the end of a short rope. He twisted violently to one side, crashing to the hard ground, blood gushing freely from two ragged great wounds in his chest.

  Cord took one look at Kate and the smoking gun in her hand, then grabbed her wrist again, dragging her unceremoniously into the surrounding rocks. He pulled her down behind one, taking precious seconds to thumb fresh loads into his rifle. He pulled more bullets from the loops of his gun belt and handed them to Kate. She stared at them for a moment.

  ‘Get the damn thing reloaded,’ he said abruptly. ‘What you expecting to do—hit ’em over the head with it?’

  ‘Matt Cord, you are the most ungracious...’ she began. Then she shook her head. She ejected the spent casings from the Colt and reloaded the chambers. ‘You want to inspect it?’ Her tone was biting.

  Cord grinned at her. ‘Hell no. When Kate Hanna does anything she always does it right first time.’

  ‘Everything?’ she queried, giving him a look that could mean one thing.

  Cord rose to move off. He looked down at her. ‘Yeah. Everything,’ he confirmed.

  A little way ahead they stumbled into a maze of rock and brush, Cord still thumbing fresh loads into his rifle. He pulled Kate into cover beside him. He peered around the big rock that concealed them, firing steady shots at the Apaches who kept appearing.

  In the rocks around them other guns were firing. Cord wondered who had got through. After seeing Eli Colton die there hadn’t been time to check on any of the others. But from the sound of the shooting there seemed to be plenty of them still able to fight.

  He drew back to check their position and spotted the shadow on the ground just off to one side. Cord jerked to one side as a stocky, dark-skinned Apache slid down from the top of the rock. A knife glittered in the Apache’s hand and Cord found he was unable to use his rifle. The Apache slammed into him. They slid across the rock, smashing to the dusty ground. Cord’s hand snapped out and grasped the Apache’s thick wrist. The Indian was powerfully built, his muscles bulging under the faded shirt he wore, and Cord found he was having to use a lot of strength to keep that knife from plunging into his throat. He could see the Apache’s dark face, only inches from his own, and he could hear the low muttering that issued from the Apache’s mouth as they struggled in strained efforts to gain the upper hand. Cord let go of his rifle. He brought his free hand up and smashed the heel of his palm up against the Apache’s nose. Bone snapped, blood spurting. The Apache grunted, but the insistent pressure on the knife continued. Again Cord drove his free fist into the Apache’s broad face. He heard the sodden splintering of the Apache’s jaw and he kept hitting in the same place until the Apache reared back, the pain from his shattered face too much to take. Before the Apache could recover Cord put both hands to the knife, turned it, and put all his strength behind a thrust that buried it deep in the Apache’s own body. The Apache uttered a low moan. Cord pushed him clear and as the Apache slid back against the rock a sudden racking cough brought a pink froth from his broad lips. The Apache had both hands clutched around the hilt of the knife and bright blood was coursing through his brown fingers in a steady stream.

  ‘For God’s sake, let’s get away from here,’ Kate said. She snatched up Cord’s rifle and tossed it to him.

  They eased their way into a thick growth of brush and after a time they were able to rest for a minute. Around them gunfire still rattled, though not as heavily now.

  ‘When you get a chance try to get the other girls to join us,’ he said.

  ‘You think Shelby might start trouble if we get rid of the Apaches?’

  ‘I don’t think it—I know. We’re only useful to him while he needs guns to fight off the Apaches. He knows what to expect if I take him in and Ben Shelby’s not about to quit all peaceful.’

  A heavy crashing in the brush brought them to their feet. Cord caught a swift glance of a mounted Apache. Sunlight glinted on the tip of the lance held in the Apache’s hand. Cord saw the lance thrust forward. He didn’t hesitate. Slamming his body into Kate he knocked her clear, then let himself fall away from the razor-sharp tip. He almost made it. The edge of the blade cut through his shirt, ripping into his flesh over his ribs. As he hit the ground, rolling to keep away from the lashing hooves of the Apache pony, he dragged his rifle free from his body, tilting the barrel up towards the yelling Apache. Cord jerked on the trigger. The rifle crashed loudly, spitting a gout of flame and smoke. The Apache’s pony squealed as the bullet gouged a bloody furrow across its neck. It pulled away, rearing wildly, unseating the Apache. As Cord climbed to his feet, feeling the warm gush of blood soaking his side, he spotted the lance-wielding Apache coming at him. There was no time to fire. Cord swung the rifle and knocked aside the Apache’s lance and as the Apache’s momentum brought him up close Cord swung the stock of the rifle across the side of his head. The Apache grunted in pain, staggering in a half-circle, his glazed eyes seeking Cord, and in the second that he set his gaze on Cord again, the rifle in Cord’s hands fired twice. The Apache kicked backwards as if he’d been struck by a giant hand, driven to the ground, his body writhing in bloody agony.

  Kate was already on her feet. She rejoined Cord, fussing over the bleeding gash in his side until he knocked her hands aside.

  ‘Damn it, woman, quit fussin’.’

  ‘So bleed to death then,’ Kate snapped back.

  Cord looked at her angry face, and despite the pain, he grinned. She was some woman, he thought. If they got out of this in one piece he figured to keep in touch with Kathleen Hanna.

  ‘Cord! Hey, Cord, we got the bastards on the run.’

  Ben Shelby, one side of his face streaked with blood, stood off to one side. In the moment after he’d spoken he lifted his rifle and blasted a yelling Apache off his feet, then drove a couple more bullets into the body.

  The gunfire seemed to drain away then. Almost at once, a strange and over-powering silence fell over the place. Somewhere in the rocks a pony clattered across loose stones. A faint breeze hissed dryly through the brush.

  Cord, his rifle held loosely, but plainly in sight, walked across the space that separated him from Ben Shelby. The outlaw stayed where he was. As Cord came up to him Shelby turned to look at him. There was a weariness in his eyes that he failed to hide from Cord.

  ‘
Every damn one of ’em,’ he said. ‘We did for ’em all. Dead, every single son-of-a-bitch.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Cord said, nodding slowly, his eyes scanning the area. They had indeed wiped out the whole bunch.

  Ben Shelby let out a long sigh. ‘Was a time I thought they had us. But that first volley we put in ’em shook the shit clear out of ’em.’

  There was no answer from Cord this time. Shelby glanced his way and Cord smacked him across the side of the head with the stock of his rifle. Ben Shelby went down hard, unconscious. Cord bent and picked up Shelby’s rifle. He unstrapped Shelby’s gun belt and tossed it to Kate. Working quickly he undid Shelby’s trouser belt and used it to bind Shelby’s hands behind his back.

  ‘That was sneaky,’ Kate murmured.

  ‘I’m that kind of feller,’ Cord said. ‘Watch out for LeGrand. He’s the mean one of the bunch.’

  Cord walked across to where one of the Apache’s ponies stood. It eyed him coldly yet stayed put even when he reached out a hand to stroke its neck. Cord took the braided rein and led the pony back to where Kate stood. He bent and hoisted Ben Shelby’s inert form up off the ground, slinging him across the pony’s back.

  ‘Cord, look.’

  Coming out of the rocks some way off were the remaining two women Shelby had taken from Gray’s Creek. They stood there in the open, as if they weren’t sure what they were supposed to do next.

  ‘Madge. Jenny. Over here,’ Kate shouted, waving wildly.

  The sound of her voice seemed to break the spell holding them and the two young women hurried across to where Kate stood beside Matthew Cord. They were dirty and carried the odd cut and bruise but otherwise seemed unhurt. Both had a heavy revolver clutched in their slim hands.

  ‘LeGrand and Cooley? You seen either of them?’ Cord asked.

  Madge Brenner glanced at him. ‘The one called Cooley is dead. Two Apaches cornered him. He shot them both but not before they’d put their lances through him.’

  ‘I saw LeGrand a little while before the shooting stopped,’ the other woman, Jenny Lafan said. ‘He didn’t seem to be hurt.’

  Matthew Cord sighed inwardly. He scanned the surrounding country. He knew that Morgan LeGrand was out there somewhere. It was easily possible that LeGrand was watching them even now. It would stay that way until LeGrand decided to make his move. Cord knew he would. Morgan LeGrand had been with Shelby for far too long to abandon him. The two men had shared a long time together, going through a lot, and there would be that strange bond that often grew up between men in this savage land. Shelby and LeGrand had shared money and women, good and bad times, living and fighting together almost as one. They were of the old breed, who lived by an unwritten code of loyalty that was unbreakable—only death could separate them.

  Nor had Cord forgotten the fact that Morgan LeGrand had a personal grudge he’d be aching to settle. Killing Cord was a need for Morgan LeGrand, and he would risk everything to get his satisfaction.

  So one way and another Morgan LeGrand was going to be around and he would choose his time to suit himself. His intention was plain: kill Cord and free Ben Shelby.

  Cord decided that the sooner they got moving the better he’d feel. It was a long way back to Gray’s Creek and the trip wasn’t going to be made any easier by having to shepherd along three females as well as trying to hang onto Ben Shelby, plus keeping alive them all alive.

  ‘Kate, we need more horses. I don’t fancy walking back to Gray’s Creek.’

  ‘What about the ones we left at the mission?’

  Cord shook his head. ‘Long way down and there’s no telling how many Apaches might be standing watch over them. We’ll pick up a few of these ponies. You ever ride bareback?’

  Kate shook her head.

  ‘Well you’re going to. By the time we get back to Gray’s Creek your behind’ll be as tender as any steak you’ve ever served.’

  ‘That’s what I like about the true Westerner,’ Kate remarked acidly. ‘He’s so gallant and all heart.’

  With Cord leading the pony carrying Ben Shelby, they moved off. They left behind the silent place of death. Already the sky above was dotted with the wheeling shapes of buzzards waiting to settle. Soon the place would be turned into a scene of stark horror as the ugly birds began their grisly feasting.

  In the next half hour they managed to pick up four more stray ponies. It took a little time to get used to the Apache way of riding but once mastered it was infinitely more preferable than having to walk. Cord found a coil of braided rope on one of the ponies and used it to secure Ben Shelby in an upright position once the outlaw recovered from the blow that had rendered him unconscious.

  ‘Cord, you’re a back-stabbing bastard!’ Shelby’s words were forceful. He sat watching as Cord trussed him securely to the pony.

  ‘It’s the company I mix with that gives me these bad habits,’ Cord observed.

  Shelby glared at him. ‘Cord—bullshit. You’re a mean son-of-a-bitch and just don’t turn your back on me. Give me one chance and I’ll stomp you in the ground so deep they’ll never find you.’

  ‘Mister Shelby, to do that you’ll have to get by me first and I’ll shoot your eyes out first time I see you make a wrong move,’ Kate said.

  Ben Shelby looked at Kate. He saw the gun she carried and he also saw the look in her eyes. He knew she meant every word of it. He recalled the time he’d had with her up in that room over the saloon back in Gray’s Creek. She’d fought him then and it was plain to see that she hadn’t forgotten the episode. He realized that she was deadly serious and he was wise enough to know when he was being given a straight warning.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ he said. ‘I get your message and I’ll think on it.’

  Kate swung up onto her pony, strong legs gripping its body. ‘You do that, Mister Ben Shelby. Think about it all the way back to Gray’s Creek. Think about when they put you in a cell and throw away the key.’

  Cord mounted his pony. He laid his rifle across his knees and took up the rein of Shelby’s pony.

  ‘All right, ladies, let’s ride. And keep those eyes skinned. We’ve got company riding with us. He ain’t about to show himself deliberate but somebody might just get lucky. If you do spot him, for Christ’s sake don’t yell it out. Just tell me easy— calm and easy. LeGrand’s a killer and I don’t anticipate more than one chance at him. If I make a mess of that I’m not liable to get a second try.’

  Ben Shelby grinned. Then he laughed. ‘Morgan’s out there? And here I was figuring I’d reached a dead-end. Cord, you done me a power of good. You might as well let me go now, ‘cause when ol’ Morgan takes the notion to finish you off there ain’t a man alive to stop him. Jesus, man, he’ll take you without raising a sweat. Look, you cut me free and I’ll just light out and me and Morg can hit the back country before anybody knows where we are. Hell, Cord, it’s easier than dyin’ and a lot less painful. What you say, boy? Huh? What you say, Cord?’

  Matthew Cord reined in and eased around in controlled anger. He lifted his rifle and placed the tip of the muzzle against Ben Shelby’s head.

  ‘I say you better shut your goddam mouth, Shelby, else I’ll blow your head clean off your shoulders. Makes no mind to me how I bring you in. I can do it alive or I can do it with you wrapped in a blanket. I’ll leave the choice up to you, but if you fancy the blanket, then you just keep on talkin’. Every word you say makes my fingers squeeze this trigger a little bit more.’

  Sweat beaded Ben Shelby’s face. He knew that Cord meant every word he said. He figured that silence was better than death, so he nodded quickly.

  ‘All right, Cord, you win. I know a bad hand when I’m dealt it. No more talk.’

  Cord took away the rifle. They moved off again, in utter silence, until Cord said, ‘Don’t look now, but we’re being watched pretty close by someone who looks a lot like Morgan LeGrand.’

  Cord felt the tension start to build up. Now it would begin. The long period of stalking, when one would be the hunter an
d one the hunted. Let LeGrand think like that if he wanted, but Cord wasn’t finished yet, and he’d seen the hunter-hunted set-up reverse itself before today. Sometimes the one being stalked reached the point where patience ran out and desperate situations often called for desperate measures. Morgan LeGrand might figure he was holding the winning hand—but as far as Matthew Cord was concerned, the final card still had to be played.

  Fifteen

  Morgan LeGrand took one of the Apache ponies. His rifle was empty and he discarded it when he found a dead Apache wearing a gun belt and a holstered .45 caliber Colt. He strapped on the belt and settled the holster against his leg. He took out the Colt and checked it thoroughly, making sure that it was fully loaded. LeGrand preferred a handgun. He’d always used one and used it well. He’d lost count of the men he’d killed. The first time he’d killed a man he’d only been sixteen. Since then he’d perfected his way with a handgun until he considered he was as good as any and a damn sight better than most. LeGrand didn’t talk about his prowess or make any exhibition of his skill—but when the time came to use his gun there was no argument as to his brilliance.

  He had a canteen of water and some dried meat. Enough to survive on for several days. LeGrand had been surviving in hard conditions for most of his life and if need be he could go without. The only thing on his mind at this time was the anticipation of killing Matthew Cord and freeing Ben. He knew without question that Ben would have done the same for him if their roles had been reversed. The others were all gone but he and Ben had survived. They’d survived before and would do so again. They were of the enduring breed, the hard ones, men who had experienced the hard knocks of life and who knew how to live high on the hog during the good times and when to draw in their horns when the pickings came lean.

  LeGrand forked the pony and moved off after the slow-paced party being led by Cord. He knew by Cord’s line of travel that he was aiming to get back to Gray’s Creek. Somewhere between this place and that flea-bitten town Morgan LeGrand would make his move. He’d choose his time and his place. LeGrand wasn’t in a hurry. When he made a kill he liked to be certain he was on firm ground, that he’d considered all the angles. A bullet killed quicker than a man could change his mind and it was no good realizing that a plan was wrong once the shooting started. He didn’t underestimate Cord. He’d heard of Cord’s reputation as a U.S. Marshal and it had been a damn good one. Cord was a tough man. He was hard and merciless when it came to facing his man, as many so-called fast-guns had found to their cost. Cord was akin to LeGrand in that he walked quietly and didn’t brag of his skill, but there was no lack of it when the time came. So there was that to be taken into consideration before LeGrand made any move. Know your man, evaluate his potential, then act on that evaluation. It was a rule that Morgan LeGrand had lived by for a long time and it was one of the reasons why he was still alive, and the reason a lot of men were buried in unmarked graves.