California Killing
Page 11
Burt stared at the shattered window as if hypnotized, tensing at the metallic sound of the Winchester's action as it pumped a fresh shell into the breech. Looking at the dark-skinned leanness of Edge's face resting against the stock of the rifle, he thought he had never seen a man who appeared less like a priest. He licked his lips and then his eyes flicked to the side of the Mission where Hood had disappeared.
"Obliged," Edge said and the Winchester roared again, the bullet sprouting a ghastly blossom of blood from Burt's leather vest, left of center. Even before the dead man had hit the ground, Edge was spinning into a sprint through the dusty pews towards a window at the rear of the Mission. He was about to smash the colored glass when it exploded into a million shards, showering down over him and forcing him to duck to the side.
He heard the whinny of a horse and then the yell of a man urging the animal into flight. The dwarfs sprang into excited movement, rushing from the archway and around the side of the Mission. Edge peered over the window sill and saw Hood riding away at the gallop, his frock-coat flapping in the slipstream.
One of the dwarfs raised his pistol to send a shot after the fleeing man, but Edge fired first. The gun spun from the man's fist, its barrel buckled by the impact of the rifle bullet.
"Whose side you on?" the dwarf snarled angrily as Hood rode out of range, heading for the mouth of the gully which lead off the plateau.
"The winning one," Edge muttered as Breen and Dexter rushed around the rear of the Mission, their movements clumsy in the flapping skirts. He used the stock of the Winchester to smash away the jagged shards of glass and then hoisted himself up and through the window.
"I could have blasted him out of the saddle."
The dwarf was still angry and the hard lines of his fifty-year-old face made him look even more incongruous in the child-like garb. Edge strode over to him and squatted down in front of him. The dwarf met Edge's cold blue eyes and quaked.
"You need him alive, uh?"
Edge nodded, his expression impassive. "Him more than you, little man."
The dwarf tried to swallow his apprehension. "You can have him, Mr. Edge."
Edge straightened up. "Big of you," he said.
Chapter Sixteen
THE dwarfs hitched up the flatbed and headed back to town, taking the three surviving animals from the stage team and the spare horses from the group tethered behind the Mission. Edge Dexter and Breen shed their restricting clerical attire and rode hard into the gully.
Edge rode several feet to the front, his watchful eyes following the sign left on the trail by the fleeing Hood. The rancher and the sheriff rode in the stiff, upright attitudes of concentrated tension: each with his own motive for mounting excitement as the half-breed led them along the mountain crest.
All three were so concerned with their own thoughts and actions that none was aware of the presence of a fourth pursuer who joined the chase. He had ridden hard from the far side of the sun-baked plateau, taking a wide half-circle around the slow moving flatbed and entering the gully a long way behind the three trackers. And when he emerged at the far end, he continued to maintain a position at the rear, a mere dot against the broken terrain flanking the crestline trail.
Much further ahead lost to sight among the rises and falls of the ground, Hood demanded the utmost from his mount, his jabbing heels drawing blood from the animal's sides to add to the sign of his retreat. He kept to the rutted trail for more than three miles before swerving off it and sending the horse into a headlong dash down the cracked bed of an old water course. The course made a sudden turn to the left and then increased the steepness of its fall before seeming to end abruptly at the edge of a patch of brush. But the passage of countless horses had broken and flattened a path through the undergrowth and Hood followed it at speed with the confidence of long experience. He came clear of the undergrowth and entered a stand of trees, emerging at the far side on to a gentle, grass-covered slope sweeping down to the valley floor. Hood roared for more speed from his lathered mount as he headed down the slope at a tangent, toward the foot of a towering cliff which blocked off one side of the incline.
At the foot of the slope, on level ground, he raced along close to the rock-littered foot of the north-facing side of the precipice, its shade taking the intensity from the sun's heat. He followed this course for a little under a mile, heading for a clump of thickly growing vegetation, where he reined his exhausted mount to a walk, going through a gap in the growth. It was very cool in the dappled shade of the greenery, and cooler still in the tunnel through the cliff face. But he did not linger, pressing forward to emerge into strong sunlight again. He was in a deep ravine which ran parallel with the cliff for some five hundred feet before it made a sharp turn to the north to achieve a broader exit into the valley.
Hood was at the boxed end of the steep-sided narrow canyon and he angled across it to the far comer where. A crude timber and adobe cabin had been built against the rocky wall. At one side of the cabin was a corral, fencing in seven horses.
With no further need for the animal which had carried him from the Mission, the ugly little man did nothing to relieve its distress after he dismounted. Instead, he heeled open the door of the cabin and went inside. The trapped heat strengthened the rancid stench of the atmosphere which was thick with the stale odors of many unwashed bodies.
Unconcerned by this, Hood moved from the bottle-littered main room into a smaller one at the side. A bunk piled with evil-smelling blankets was pushed against a wall. He crouched beside this and reached underneath. His protruding eyes became fired with the light of greed as he dragged out a large, iron-bound sea-chest fastened with a massive padlock. He reached into his pocket and cursed when his probing fingers failed to find the key. Then he reached under the frock-coat, drew his revolver and fired point-blank into the lock. It burst open as if made of matchwood.
He lifted the heavy lid and sighed, then gloated for several precious seconds as he looked at the bundles of bills crammed inside. But the urgency to get away overcame the pleasure of the moment and he dragged a blanket from the bed and began to pile the money in its center.
Edge, Dexter and Breen had halted their sweating mounts, and were surveying the vast panorama of the valley floor. Hood's trail had been easy to follow down from the mountains but at the foot of the sheer cliff face there were no tell-tale hoofprints in the unyielding ground: just intermittent, difficult to see spots of blood from the hard-driven horse. And at the point where prickly vegetation added a splash of color to the brown of the rock, even this sign disappeared.
"Into thin air again," Breen said sourly, taking off his hat and brushing sweat from his hairline. "Happens every time. They just stay under cover and wait for a man to get close enough to pick off."
"Ain't they anymore," Edge pointed out softly as he raked his hooded eyes across the vastness of the valley, knowing that if Hood had cut north, he would still be in sight.
Dexter, his age beginning to tell after the frantic chase, looked hopefully at Edge. Then the shot rang out, muffled but close and all three looked into the clump of brush and stunted trees.
'Edge grinned coldly as he sidled his horse closer. "I reckon we got him," he said.
Breen shook his head, the gesture killing the start of a smile on Dexter's face. "Not yet we haven't," the lawman warned. "No man's ever been this close to Hood's hide-out and lived to tell it. But Hood's had it put around that the place is thick with traps."
Edge reached out to brush aside some of the branches and grunted with satisfaction when he saw a way through. He turned in the saddle to look at the other two. "Couldn't get a stage through here. Must be a wider entrance someplace." He pointed a long, dark-colored finger. "Head along the foot of the bluff. If I flush him out, blast him."
"Take care," Dexter urged.
"It's how I got to live this long," Edge answered and steered his horse between the branches.
Breen and Dexter exchanged a glance and then heeled their mou
nts in the direction Edge had indicated. At the bottom of the slope, the lone rider who had followed the trio from the Mission, waited a further minute before clucking encouragement to his horse. The animal moved forward and was held at a steady distance from the sheriff and the rancher.
Edge halted his horse at the canyon end of the tunnel and dismounted, sliding the Winchester from the boot. He leaned against the cool rock and raked his eyes over the cabin with its corral of horses at the side and the stolen animal moving listlessly, dragging the reins, in front. Then his eyes settled on the open doorway. After half a minute, he saw a movement in the shadows. A moment later, the short figure of Hood emerged, his bald head sheened with sweat in the strong sunlight. A bundle formed by a filthy blanket with a length of rope securing the four comers, was slung over his shoulder. Within the confining walls of the narrow canyon, the sound of the Winchester's action was magnified to the volume of distant pistol cracks. It immobilized Hood.
"Seems Santa Cause came early this year," Edge said easily, stepping out into the open.
Fury and fear mingled on Hood's sweat-greased face, emphasizing the bulge of his eyes. The muscle of the rifle held loosely in his free hand inched up.
"Not a chance," Edge warned.
Hood released his grip and the weapon thudded into the dirt. "One stage I ought never to have hit," the little man said dully.
"It made you rich," Edge pointed out. "Rich men can buy a lot of things."
Suspicion showed in the other's face. "My life?"
Edge's lips curled back in a grin. "All right, already."
Greed caused Hood to hesitate a moment. Then, reluctantly, he let go of the blanket bundle and it dropped to the ground behind him. "I can go?"
Edge shrugged. "Sure."
He was still suspicious. "You didn't come alone?"
"You see anyone else?"
"Can I saddle a horse?"
Edge nodded to the sorry looking animal, the open wounds in its sides covered by ravenous flies.
"You don't give much away," Hood snarled.
"Not a thing," Edge told him and for long moments Hood's protruding eyes examined the impassive face of the half-breed, searching for a hidden meaning in the remark.
But he failed to find a hint of a clue and so quickly gathered up the reins of the weary horse and swung into the saddle. Without taking his eyes or his aim from the mounted man, Edge reached back into the tunnel and led his own horse out. Then he walked the animal with a deceptive casualness over to the front of the cabin, as Hood urged his horse into reluctant movement.
Hood, afraid to startle Edge into a reflex action, kept his horse at a walking pace along the canyon. Edge made a loop in the rope fastening the blanket comers and hung it over his saddlehorn. Then he mounted and, with the Winchester held in a loose, single-handed grip, moved off in the wake of the other man, trailing him by a hundred feet.
The closer the canyon got to where it turned north, the narrower it became and the floor was layered with brush. In addition to the caution in his pace, Hood was also careful in the course he adopted, steering his mount in an uneven zig-zag pattern through the undergrowth.
Edge took note of this and ensured he followed Hood's tracks with the utmost precision, certain that on each side the ground was laid with the concealed traps of which Breen had spoken. As Hood neared the turn, Edge closed up on him, anxious to keep him in sight.
"Hold it, you bastard!"
The command was barked out by Breen who, with Dexter, flanked the wagon-wide entrance of the canyon. The snarled words and the sight of the two leveled rifles caused Hood to rein his horse to an abrupt halt. As Edge rounded the comer behind him, the bald-headed man turned in the saddle, his face a mask of hate.
"Not a thing," he mimicked.
Edge shrugged. "That's what I said."
"You have the money?" Dexter asked anxiously.
Edge patted the bulging blanket and a smile lighted the rancher's weary face.
"All yours," Edge said. "Less ten grand. Five for me and five for Holly and the little guys."
Dexter nodded. "It's what we agreed. I'm a man of my word."
"And the sheriff finally gets to take in Hood," Edge said.
"Like hell he does," an authoritative voice cut in.
All eyes swung towards the mouth of the canyon. Stricklyn, his city clothes filmed with dust from the long ride, sat woodenly astride his horse, his undistinguished face coated with hate. He was aiming a Bacon pepperbox at arm's length.
"Won't hardly dent his coat buttons," Edge warned flatly.
Stricklyn didn't hear the words. He squeezed the trigger and the tiny weapon spat fire. The gun pulled down and to the right. "That's for Magda," Stricklyn spat out. But the bullet did not touch Hood. Instead, it went under the heel of his left boot and seared across the fly-infested festering wound in the side of the horse.
The beast snorted its agony and reared violently with the final reserves of its strength. Hood came clear of the saddle and was hurled against the rock wall, to bounce down into the brush. He was able to emit one terrified scream. Then a powerful spring was tripped with a tremendous twang. A rushing sound hissed in the hot, unmoving air, and the jagged jaws of a huge bear trap unfolded out of the brush with lightning speed. They snapped together, the clank of their meeting accompanied by the squelch of tearing flesh and the crunch of snapping bone. As the four men watched, Hood seemed to be standing upright for long seconds, skewered on a curve of steel. But then a great skirt of blood gushed out all around him and the top half of his body toppled forward, exposing an enormous wound, draining entrails on a sea of blood.
"Holy cow!" Breen exclaimed, sagging against the rocky wall as Hood's upper body ceased to roll.
Stricklyn hurled the tiny gun away, wheeled his horse and rode away at a full gallop, trailing vomit.
Dexter stared at the two halves of the man in horrified fascination.
Edge moved his horse cautiously forward, his lean features expressionless as his hooded eyes searched the ground for more traps. But he reached the opening in the cliff safely.
"You want to count the money here, or in town?"
Dexter was finally able to drag his gaze away from the severed corpse. "Town," he croaked.
Breen shook his head ruefully as he looked at Hood's remains. "He sure don't look so much now, does he?"
Edge spat and glanced at the awesome spectacle of mutilated flesh, still oozing blood. "He sure don't," he agreed. "Only half the man he used to be."
THE END
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Table of Contents
Table of Contents
Credits
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen