by Neil Hunter
There were also the three women to consider.
LeGrand had seen the way they’d acted during the fight with the Apaches. Granted none of them were ever going to make reputations as gunfighters but each and every one of them could use a gun, and it was as easy to die from a bullet fired by a woman as from one by a man. Of the three LeGrand considered the redhead, the one called Kate, to be the most dangerous. She had a spirit that made her as good as many men he’d known and LeGrand hadn’t failed to notice her closeness to Cord. She would side up with him in any crisis.
Morgan LeGrand mulled over these prospects as he trailed the tiny group back out of the Hatchets. He watched the day ease by, noon come and go, and the silent afternoon drift away like dust in a desert breeze. Many times he would stop and survey the lay of the land. He saw nothing that might give him an advantage over Cord. Still he remained calmly optimistic. It was still a fair ride to Gray’s Creek. Something would work itself out long before then.
He made a cold camp that night. The chill in the night air didn’t bother him. He’d chosen a place high up and he was able to look down and see the tiny orange glow of Cord’s fire. LeGrand smiled to himself. Cord knew he was being trailed and he would be thinking as LeGrand was thinking. They both knew the odds. Cord would be sitting down there with the knowledge that LeGrand was watching him. There was no point in trying to pretend otherwise. So he’d built his fire and he’d be sitting there, maybe hoping that LeGrand might make a try while it was dark. If that was what he thought, LeGrand decided, then he was in for a long night. LeGrand preferred to do his fighting in the daylight. There were too many things that could go wrong in the darkness. Even if a man took his time, watched his step, there was always the chance of something unseen spoiling it all for him. When darkness fell ground that might easily be covered during the day became unfamiliar. It was another world. LeGrand admitted that some men could handle the darkness. It was their particular talent, but not his. Hell no. He liked to be able to see what he was up against, in all directions, and a man couldn’t do that with only a handful of stars to guide him.
He ate some of the dried meat and drank a little water. Making sure that the pony was tethered securely LeGrand pulled off the blanket that served as a saddle and draped it round his shoulders. He put his back to a rock, put his Colt in his hand and settled back to sleep.
As always he came awake quickly, his senses clearing smoothly. He sat for a while watching the movement around the camp fire below him. He was still sitting motionless when Cord and the women and Ben Shelby, mounted on their ponies, moved off again. He sat and watched them go. He was still in no kind of hurry. They still had the Grande to cross. He figured that at the pace they were moving they might reach the river by midday. He could follow and catch up with them around that time. LeGrand thought that maybe then he might find his chance. He wasn’t sure yet but he kept the thought in mind as he prepared to ride.
Cord was making no attempt to hide his trail. Why should he? LeGrand would have found him anyway. They were destined to meet finally and nothing would alter that fact.
Through the shimmering heat of the morning Morgan LeGrand rode towards the Rio Grande. Most of the time he rode without seeing those he followed.
But he knew they were there. Ahead of him, and just as surely knowing that he was following, Cord would be leading his small party towards the Grande.
Just on noon Morgan LeGrand drew rein on a sandy ridge. Below him shone the sluggish water of the Grande. And near the water’s edge was Cord’s party. The horses were tethered nearby while their riders took time to refresh themselves in the water.
Morgan LeGrand grinned wolfishly. Damned if he hadn’t been right. This was the place. He slid from his pony, tethering it to a nearby clump of brush, and eased into the thick undergrowth that grew along this section of the river. From the top of one boot he drew a slim-bladed, razor-edged knife. Moving very quickly, yet making minimum sound he worked his way down the slope until he was just beyond Cord’s camp.
The three women were busy washing the dust and dirt from their faces. Cord himself, his rifle cradled loosely in his big hands, paced restlessly up and down the camp area. And sitting on a flat stone, his back to LeGrand, was Ben Shelby, his hands tied behind his back.
LeGrand lay on his stomach surveying the scene. His attention was on Matthew Cord. He was the one to watch. Once things started happening Cord would react fast. LeGrand knew that and was prepared for it. All he needed were a few seconds to get across the open stretch of sandy ground to where Ben sat. A couple of quick strokes with his knife and Ben would be free from the bindings round his wrists.
And then?
Morgan LeGrand felt the hand holding the knife grow damp with sweat. He had a feeling that his confrontation with Matthew Cord was not far off. His body ached to be getting on with it. He eyed Cord’s movements for a minute or so, judging the point where Cord would be far enough away, his back turned, to give LeGrand the chance he needed to reach Ben Shelby.
He was acting on instinct and nothing else. It enabled a man to make judgments based solely on the kind of feelings a situation gave him. Morgan LeGrand had lived on instinct for a long time and he wasn’t about to ignore his feelings now.
And those feelings said do it now.
Now!
LeGrand slid out from the brush. He shoved to his feet and ran across the open ground. His eyes watched the distant figure of Matthew Cord, flickering to the three women at the water’s edge. No more than a few seconds had elapsed. He reached Ben, dropping on his knees behind him, the keen blade of the knife slicing through the leather belt that had held Ben’s wrists together.
Ben Shelby’s head turned. His eyes met LeGrand’s for a swift moment, and the old smile touched his lips.
‘You...,’ he began to say but he was cut off by a sudden female voice raised in alarm.
One of the women had spotted them. She stood up, reaching for the gun tucked in her pants, and suddenly, without warning she began to run towards them. The heavy gun lifted towards them.
Behind her Kate Hanna yelled, ‘Jenny, no. Don’t.’
The warning was far too late. The woman called Jenny had already pulled the trigger. The big revolver bucked in her hand, and the bullet, intended for Ben Shelby’s body, only clipped his inner arm.
A second shot rang out. The Colt in Morgan LeGrand’s hand spat flame. The woman named Jenny stopped in mid-stride. Her mouth opened in shocked surprise. She twisted round, her arms thrown wide apart, the front of her shirt suddenly blossoming with a bright spread of blood. The heavy gun flew from her limp hand as she struck the ground, her slender body seeming to bounce on impact.
‘Get the gun, Ben,’ LeGrand said. Even as he spoke his eyes were searching for Cord and he found his man. LeGrand put his knife away and straightened up. He let his gun hand hang at his side as he stepped by Ben.
‘This is the time, Cord,’ he said and he knew he was right. He could feel the surge of blood in his veins. He felt at his peak, ready to deal off the top of the deck. ‘Now, Cord. I feel lucky.’
Sixteen
As he walked forward Cord put the sight of Jenny Lafan out of his mind. The sight of her bloodstained body would have been a distraction. And right now he wanted no kind of distraction. He transferred the rifle he carried into his left hand, leaving his right free for access to the butt of the Colt in the holster on his right hip. He had to give LeGrand his due. The man had waited his chance and he’d taken it. Up to this point it had proved successful. How much more so depended on what happened in the next few seconds. Cord felt a little angry with himself. He’d expected trouble and he’d been prepared for it. While the women had taken a much needed rest by the river’s edge he had kept a watchful eye out for any sign of LeGrand. He’d been thorough, but just not thorough enough. But what the hell. A man could only look in one direction at a time. LeGrand had made his approach well, coming in on Cord’s blind side. In a way it was a relief. One wa
y or another it would be over for someone. Cord had been fretting over LeGrand’s appearance for a time. The sooner LeGrand showed himself the better. Cord wanted to get it over with. It looked like his wish was about to come true.
‘Any time you want, LeGrand,’ Cord said. He watched as the outlaw dropped his Colt into his holster, drawing his hand away from the butt. LeGrand stood motionless, his tall, powerful frame looking almost indestructible. His pale eyes fixed on Cord and held.
Cord himself stood almost casually. His right hand lay against his thigh, well away from the gun in its holster. He looked nothing like a man supposedly primed for a to-the-death gunfight.
Morgan LeGrand let the seconds drag on and then without warning, his right hand flashed for the gun on his hip. It was an automatic move, done without thought. His fingers curled around the smooth butt of the Colt, his trigger finger slipping inside the guard while his thumb began to draw back the hammer. Even before the gun had half-cleared the holster the hammer was all the way back and LeGrand was on his way to adding another kill to his long record.
The sound of the two shots shattered the silence. Morgan LeGrand failed to comprehend the speed of a gun that had been drawn, leveled, and fired twice before his own had even cleared leather. He felt the heavy blows in his chest, then the sudden tearing, agonizing pain that ripped through his body. Helpless, he was driven back under the terrific impact of the two big bullets cleaving flesh and bone during their passage through his body. He had time for one single cry, a low wail of sound that was lost in the roar of his own gun. In reflex his finger jerked the trigger, sending the bullet into the ground at his feet. And then he himself was on the ground, on his back. Pain filled his body and he choked on a rush of blood in his throat. His body arched against the pain, turning him onto his side. He lay for a few seconds watching the twin steams of blood pumping out of his chest with every beat of his heart, and then even they stopped, because his heart had stopped and Morgan LeGrand was dead.
Cord ran forward the second he’d fired. LeGrand was down, out of his mind now, and all that Cord could see was Ben Shelby. The outlaw had snatched up the gun dropped by the woman LeGrand had shot. He was straightening up, turning towards Cord.
Without warning there came a rush of sound from behind Cord. He threw a quick glance over his shoulder and saw the threat closing in on him. For some unexplained reason the tethered ponies, trained to ignore gunfire, had taken exception this time. As one they pulled free of their tethers and came at a dead run. Their line of travel took them straight at Cord. There was no way to avoid them. Cord turned aside, but the lead pony’s off-shoulder caught him a hefty blow. Cord felt himself lifted off his feet and when he hit the ground the wind was slammed from his body. Dimly he heard shouting, a general confusion. He tried to get up but he suddenly felt as weak as a baby. He did realize that he’d lost his gun and for a moment he felt a rise of panic. Where the hell was Ben Shelby? What was going on? His head began to throb wildly and now he could feel blood trickling down his face from a gash on his head. He got one leg under him and tried to stand and then the whole world turned upside down and he fell onto his face. It went very quiet and then it went very dark and after that he lost interest.
Seventeen
The impact of cold water on his face brought him round. Cord lay for awhile. The pounding in his head had eased some but he felt sick and his body ached wickedly. After a time he opened his eyes, flinching against the brightness of the hot sun. He turned his head and looked into the worried face of the young woman named Madge Brenner.
‘You had me worried for a time there,’ she said. ‘I thought you were dead.’
Cord struggled to sit up. The landscape tilted for a moment. He shook his head, clearing some of the fog that seemed to be clouding his senses.
‘Mr. Cord?’
He glanced at Madge Brenner. ‘I think I’ll live,’ he said. His mind was clearing quickly now. He looked around. It seemed that he and the girl were the only ones left alive.
‘Shelby’s gone,’ Madge Brenner told him. ‘And he took Kate with him. They took ponies.’ She indicated the sprawled body of Morgan LeGrand. ‘It was funny. He could have killed you so easily. But he said he aimed to do it right—whatever that means. He said you’d know where to find him!’
Matthew Cord stood up. He swayed unsteadily. The girl appeared at his side and handed him his gun. Cord thumbed fresh loads into the chambers. He was thinking about Kate. Damn Shelby. The outlaw knew that Cord would follow him, more so because he had the girl with him. And he was right. Kate apart, Ben Shelby was still his assignment. The rest of the bunch were dead now. Only Shelby was left—and maybe the most dangerous of the lot. Well, if he wanted to make a death or glory showdown, Cord would go along with him. But only so far. Matthew Cord could imagine the workings of Shelby’s mind now. The man was on his own. He had only himself to depend on. Not that he wasn’t capable of looking after himself. Ben Shelby had lived a long time in a chancy profession. A man didn’t do that by being a fool. There was no arguing the fact. Ben Shelby was a survivor, a man used to staying alive when the odds were against him. He’d done it before and he’d do it again if he rid himself of Cord. Shelby’s reputation would soon gather him a new gang. There were plenty of outlaws who would jump at the chance of joining up with Ben Shelby.
But like LeGrand, Ben Shelby would want his settling with Cord. Cord had a reputation too. During his time as a U.S. Marshal he’d built up an image that would still be remembered by many. Ben Shelby would know that reputation, and to be the one to gun down Matt Cord— it would add to Shelby’s own image. That was the reason for the challenge. Shelby would want the confrontation to be witnessed and that was why he’d left the message—he was letting Cord know where he’d be waiting.
And that place could only be Gray’s Creek! There was nowhere like a town, even a place like Gray’s Creek, for starting the rumors that often became legend.
Cord motioned to Madge Brenner. ‘Let’s go and find ourselves a ride. Rest of those ponies should around somewhere, ‘less they’ve just carried on running over the border into Mexico.’
Before they moved off they refilled a couple of canteens from the river. Cord retrieved his rifle. They had no tools handy to dig graves for Jenny Lafan and Morgan LeGrand. Eventually Cord found a place where they could place the bodies and then cave in the overhanging sandbank. They placed a few big stones around the place.
Cord caught sight of the tears coursing down Madge Brenner’s young face. He could feel for her. In the past few days she’d seen more violent death than most girls could stand.
‘Sorry it couldn’t be better for her,’ he said. It seemed the only thing to say.
Madge Brenner wiped away the tears. ‘She’ll be remembered,’ she said. ‘Mr. Cord, if it hadn’t been for you we’d all be dead.’
Cord didn’t say anything to that. He didn’t figure he’d done that well. Two of the women were dead. Kate was in Shelby’s hands and he still had to get Madge Brenner back to Gray’s Creek.
It took them a good couple of hours before they spotted the ponies. Then they had to sweat away another hour before they managed to catch a couple. Once they were mounted they turned the ponies towards the Grande, made the crossing, and settled to following the trail that Ben Shelby had left behind.
When they stopped for the night Cord made sure that the ponies were secure before he pulled off the blanket saddles. He passed one to Madge, found himself a spot that was comparatively clear of stones, and lay down. He was asleep within minutes of closing his eyes, and he slept deeply, his exhausted body giving in to the rest it needed.
When he woke the sun was high. Cord rolled out of the blanket, swearing silently to himself. He stood up, working the stiffness out of his body. He shook Madge awake and while she came round he threw the blankets back onto the ponies and secured them.
They ate what they had left of the dried meat and took a quick drink from the canteens. As they moved off
Cord glanced up at the sky. It was going to be damned hot. He scrubbed a big hand across his bruised, unshaven face, trying to remember the last time he’d felt clean. His clothing clung stickily to his body, pale with caked-on dust and blood, sour with sweat. He glanced at the slim young woman who rode just ahead of him. It couldn’t be any better for her. In fact it was probably a damned sight worse. But she didn’t complain. Not a word. She followed his lead, trusting his knowledge of the land, and the experience his years had given him.
Matthew Cord found he was having to draw on that experience most of the time now. They were riding rough country and were badly equipped to do so. They only had the water in the canteens they carried. Their food was all gone. Added to that was the fact that they had already gone through enough physical exertion for any human to endure and they were in need of a good rest. But Cord knew there’d be no rest until the matter was resolved. He longed to reach Gray’s Creek: he wanted to see if Kate was all right. It was strange but he was beginning to realize that the thought of anything happening to her would hurt him deeply. He’d known her only for a short and violent time but he couldn’t get her out of his mind.
