by Neil Hunter
“We figure he’s trying to pass money from one venture to another. A last minute gamble to keep things floating. Maybe in the hope that something somewhere might pay off. So he has to stay in the game. Act as if nothing’s wrong.”
“He might have pulled it off if you hadn’t dealt me in.”
“It was a case of waiting for the right moment. Letting everyone concerned reach the time when trust was at its lowest level and the instinct for survival at its strongest.”
Brand outlined the series of events since his arrival in Miles City with Debenham. He finished his report with a mention of the abandoned mine and the man named Calvado.
“A very unsavory individual,” McCord agreed. “I’ve heard about him. The kind of man who deals in anything provided there’s a profit at the end.”
“Not anymore,” Brand explained. “I’d say Raven retired him early.”
“With Ballard and Calvado out of the way it looks as if Debenham’s just about cleared the opposition,” McCord said.
“I get the feeling if we look that mine site over we’ll find a lot of the material that should have got to the railhead. Ballard must have freighted it out as normal from town. Instead of going to the railhead the wagons must have gone to the mine, off-loaded the original cargo and substituted the junk they eventually dropped off at the railhead.”
“Simple enough scheme,” McCord agreed. “Plenty of buyers for the original goods at a lower price with no questions asked. Calvado would have found them as his part of the deal.”
“Any idea on the amounts involved?”
McCord shrugged. “Hard to say at this stage. But with other frauds along the way our people in Washington, working with the British Secret Service, have estimated that over one million dollars has been taken out of the railroad deal. If we hadn’t got on to the matter it could have been double. Maybe even more.”
Brand had located the Colt he’d dropped on the floor beside the bed during his struggle with Ryker and Jake. He checked the weapon over, making sure it was fully loaded.
“You want Debenham brought in?” he asked.
McCord grunted in a tone that indicated frustration. “If we can find him.”
“Maybe he went out to the mine. I got the idea that was why Ryker took Sarah out there. They wanted to draw Debenham out. But he sent Raven in first.”
“They’re probably both out there,” McCord observed. He didn’t say any more and after a minute Brand glanced across at him. McCord returned his stare.
“Yeah, I know,” Brand said as he strapped on his gun belt. “The situation requires my attention.”
McCord said: “I’ll look after the young lady.”
“I’m sure you will,” Brand said over his shoulder. At the door he turned briefly. “I’ll do my job,” he said. “Only this time I do it my way.”
He left the hotel and made his way to the livery. From the man in charge he learned that Debenham had ridden out hours earlier. The man didn’t know where the Britisher had gone. Minutes later Brand was in the saddle and riding out of Miles City.
Once clear of town he cut off across country. He knew where he was heading. He was working on instinct. He rode easy now, his mind clear and his way laid out before him. He still smarted inside at the way McCord had used him. That part of the matter still had to be settled with McCord, but it would have to wait until the assignment was over. Right now he needed to concentrate on the task ahead.
There was Lord Richard Debenham to bring in. Brand didn’t give a damn how he achieved that now. The end result would depend on Debenham himself. Dead or alive, it didn’t make any difference to Brand.
Then there was Raven to be reckoned with. The hired assassin was still on the scene, and Raven wouldn’t leave now until he had settled with Jason Brand. Once Raven had set himself to make a kill nothing short of being dead would deter him. Raven wasn’t going to miss his chance at Brand. Not at this close range.
Brand had been riding for almost two hours when he spotted the horse and rider coming his way. The horse was moving slowly, simply pacing itself because there was little movement from the man in the saddle. As Brand closed in on the rider he slipped his Colt from its holster. By the time he was within range he realized he wouldn’t be needing the gun. The rider was badly wounded if the mass of blood staining the left side of his body was any indication.
The rider did manage to raise his head as Brand reined in alongside. His eyes fixed on Brand but didn’t appear to focus. Looking him over Brand saw that he had been shot a couple of times. Once in the side and once in the arm. The wounds had long since stopped bleeding. As well as the bullet wounds the rider had recently taken a beating. His face was swollen and badly bruised.
Dismounting Brand went to the rider and helped him to the ground. He sat him against a nearby rock, then collected his own canteen. The wounded man watched Brand closely, suspicion mirrored in his eyes.
“Try this,” Brand said, uncapping the canteen and passing it over. He noticed wryly that the man took the canteen in his left hand, leaving his right free; the man was no gun hand but he was making it clear he wasn’t about to take any kind of fooling around.
“Where am I?” The question didn’t surprise Brand. He had already judged the man to be lost.
“Couple hours out of Miles City.”
The man lowered the canteen, water dribbling from his lips.
“Here I was figuring I had to at least be in Mexico.”
“Where’d you ride from?”
The answer was slow in coming. The man was tired, his thoughts wandering. And then just as swiftly he looked at Brand, his eyes sharp and clear again.
“From the high country,” he said. “The construction camp.”
“The railhead? Debenham’s outfit?”
The man’s reaction came quickly. He snatched the Colt from its holster and aimed it up at Brand. His thumb dogged back the hammer. As fast as he was Brand was faster, his own right hand snapping forward, gripping the barrel and shoving it out of harm’s way.
“Ease off, boy,” he said evenly. “You’ll live a sight longer. Now I don’t know who got you all upset but it sure as hell wasn’t me.” He kept his grip on the gun barrel until he felt the tension drain from the man’s hand. “Settle down and we’ll talk.”
The gun drooped when Brand let go. He rocked back on his heels and watched the man’s tired face. Somewhere back along the line he had walked into a hard time. It was no wonder he was edgy.
“Guess I’m jumping at shadows,” he admitted, glancing at Brand. “Hell, I don’t even know who you are.”
“The name’s Jason Brand.”
“Amos Cooper,” the younger man said. “I work for Banner Lumber as a construction engineer.” A shadow of a smile edged his bruised lips. “Maybe I should say I did work for Banner. Right now I can’t be sure I still have a job.”
“What happened?”
Cooper leaned his head back against the rock. “It feels like the whole damn world fell in on me. Maybe I asked for it. Poking my nose in where it wasn’t wanted.”
“This have anything to do with the railroad’s troubles?”
Cooper tensed up, regarding Brand with open hostility, and it was obvious the younger man was having problems trusting him. For all Cooper knew Brand might be working with the people who were sabotaging the railroad.
“Just who are you working for Brand?”
Cooper’s question remained unanswered. Before Brand could say a word another voice cut through the silence.
“I’d like to know that myself, Mister Brand.”
Brand rose to his feet, keeping his hand away from his holstered gun. He knew without looking that a gun was aimed at him, and that weapon would be cocked and ready to fire.
Turning he looked into the barrel of a .44-40 Winchester rifle. Lord Richard Debenham was holding the weapon, his face taut and unsmiling. He looked nothing like the upright, clean cut British nobleman Brand had met back in Washington. D
ebenham’s clothing was soiled and badly creased. Somewhere he had lost his hat and his hair lay in a damp streak across his tanned face. There was beard stubble on his jaw. Dark rings under his eyes. Debenham was starting to show signs of panic. Though he still had control of his emotions the edges were starting to fray. The hard glint in his eye and the high color in his cheeks showed he was slipping towards the edge, and when he went over his control would go too. The game would be lost, his dreams shattered. Until then he would keep on trying, hoping that he might yet salvage something worthwhile.
Holding a gun on Brand, aware of the tall man’s coolness in the face of imminent death, Debenham found he really needed to know more about the man, and especially what his connection was to Debenham’s affairs.
“Well?” he asked. “Are you going to tell me?”
“I don’t think so, your Lordship,” Brand said evenly.
The rifle moved slightly as Debenham tightened his grip.
“I don’t think you’re in the position for any heroics. All I need to know is who you work for.”
“Debenham, I know what you want and why you want it,” Brand told him. “No deal.”
“I could kill you right now.”
“Sure. Like your hired gun Raven tried earlier? He didn’t manage it either and he’s a sight better than you’ll ever be. I thought I’d met some miserable sons of bitches, but you top them all Debenham. You even let your own daughter get dragged into your grubby deal.”
“That wasn’t supposed to happen,” Debenham said. “That was Ryker’s doing.”
“Every step you take, Debenham, digs you in deeper. And right now you’re in a worse position than me.”
Debenham forced a hollow laugh. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“It means it’s all over, mister. You’re finished, and you dam well know it.”
Brand was watching Debenham closely, seeing the tension that gripped the Britisher. Debenham’s knuckles had paled to a bloodless white where he was crushing the rifle.
“Just what is going on?” Amos Cooper asked. He was contused, angry, and in pain from his wounds.
“Simple enough,” Brand said. “Your boss, here, is the man behind all the problems you’ve been having. He’s so deep in debt he’s been defrauding the company. He’s had four men murdered already and we’re next. Ask him, boy. See if he can deny it.”
Cooper looked in Debenham’s direction. “It isn’t true, is it, sir?”
“Don’t give me that newborn calf look,” Debenham snapped. “Damn you, Cooper, haven’t you realized what the real world is like yet? A man has to take his chances when they show themselves. Opportunity doesn’t wait around for long.” Debenham broke off, his face hardening. “Why am I wasting my breath? I don’t owe you an explanation. You’ll be dead shortly and it won’t matter a damn whether you know the reason why or not.”
Amos Cooper stared at the British Lord. This was the man he’d been searching for. The one he had imagined to be incorruptible. The only man he could take his story to and have it believed. And now he had just heard that this was the man behind all the sabotage. The low-quality goods that had placed the construction crews in danger. For a few seconds his mind refused to believe what he had just heard. It couldn’t be true. It had to be . . . and then he saw Debenham’s face. Cold and devoid of any compassion, and he realized the truth. And seeing it he knew what he had to do to put things right . . .
Brand had been watching Debenham too. But for a different reason. He was aware of Debenham’s agitated state. The man was so close to the edge Brand could almost feel it. The moment was fast approaching when Debenham would start pulling the trigger of his Winchester. Once that happened it would be too late to act. Brand had no intention of placing himself or Amos Cooper in that delicate position. He was going to have to push the play himself.
It was down to survival — and the man who walked away was going to be the one who fired first and worried later.
Brand went for his gun.
In the second his finger curled around the butt he saw Debenham’s gaze flicker away from him. The Winchester’s muzzle jerked clear of Brand’s body.
Movement on Brand’s right told him what was happening. Amos Cooper had lifted his own Colt clear of his body. It had remained at his side, unnoticed until now.
The Colt blasted a stab of flame in Debenham’s direction, the bullet ripping into his body with stunning force. The impact pushed Debenham back a step, a harsh cry bursting from his lips. A second bullet, then a third struck him, twisting Debenham round. He arched forward, slipping to his knees, the Winchester falling from his hands. With blood spurting from his ravaged flesh Debenham crashed face down on the ground. He lay for a moment, then began to jerk in ugly spasms. Blood seeped from beneath his body. He became very still then, a long, ragged breath draining from his lungs as he died.
Brand let his half-drawn Colt drop back into its holster. He walked to where Debenham lay and rolled the man over. Debenham’s sightless eyes stared up into the empty blue sky. The only thought running through Brand’s mind at the moment was that Debenham’s eyes were exactly the same shade as Sarah’s, which somehow didn’t seem right under the circumstances.
A sound made him turn. Amos Cooper stood beside him, looking down at the man he’d shot.
“Well, Mister Brand, I went and killed him,” he said tonelessly.
“You did, boy,” Brand agreed. “You sure as hell did.”
Chapter Twelve
JASON BRAND was the last to board the Northern Pacific Express standing in the Miles City depot. McCord and Sarah were already on board. In a few minutes the train would leave, taking them east, putting them on their way back to Washington.
Two days had passed since Brand had brought Richard Debenham’s body back to town. Amos Cooper had told his story to the local law, and then McCord had his say. The death of the British Lord was kept under wraps through McCord’s influence. Brand knew that diplomatic moves would be already under way in Washington, and those moves would reach as far as London. Debenham’s position, his social standing, as well as his Government connections, would ensure that the unsavory details concerning his activities and death would most probably never be known to the general public. A face-saving operation would be put into action. Brand was glad he had nothing to do with that part of the deal. As far as he was concerned Debenham had been nothing more than a crook and deserved the same treatment as others of his kind. He was out of it now. The diplomats could take over.
The day before they left Miles City a representative of the Banner Land and Cattle Company had arrived in town. After a talk with McCord the man went to see Amos Cooper, and then left for the railhead. Cooper, recovering from his wounds, would follow in a few days. It appeared that an attempt was being made to keep the construction of the railroad going.
The men who had been trailing Cooper from the railhead vanished. They had got wind of Debenham’s death and had decided that discretion was the wisest thing to practice.
On the surface it appeared that Brand’s assignment was over.
Yet as he stood on the depot platform, watching the late passengers boarding the train, Brand knew the affair was far from over. McCord and Sarah were on board. Richard Debenham’s body lay in its coffin in the baggage car; Sarah had arranged for the burial to take place outside Washington. Brand was ready to board himself.
But he knew he wouldn’t settle.
He would spend the entire ride looking over his shoulder.
Because Raven was still on the loose.
Brand had that gut feeling warning him of Raven’s closeness. It was nothing he could put his finger on. Nothing tangible. Nothing he could explain to anyone else. Even so he knew that feeling of old.
It was why he stayed on the platform as the train took on its passengers, his eyes searching every face. They were all strangers to him. He was aware that his knowledge of Raven’s face was his only pointer. That all too brief glimpse. So
long back now. It was still etched on his memory. It would be enough when the time came.
It would have to be enough.
Brand was certain Raven would try to kill him during the long trip back to Washington. Twice now he and Raven had clashed, and twice Brand had walked away. Raven would be bound and determined to erase those errors. It would be a matter of professional pride. Raven was too much a perfectionist to let it go unchallenged. There was Sarah to think of too. Raven might assume that she could have seen his face too. That placed her in the firing line as well.
Brand heard the conductor give the signal. Steam began to billow from beneath the locomotive. It rattled and shook its way into motion, pistons squealing and hissing. The drive wheels began to turn, drawing the train out of the depot. Couplings clanged as a ripple of movement coursed the length of the train.
As the last car slid by him Brand swung up onto the observation platform. He watched Miles City slip behind them as the train gathered speed, hurling itself across the Montana rangeland.
He turned and went inside. He made his way slowly through the train, moving from coach to coach until he reached the Pullman car that McCord had reserved. The interior was sumptuous. Thick carpet covered the floor. The walls were lined with grained wood panels and padded velvet. The seating was just as plush. The door fittings and the oil-lamps were all burnished brass.
McCord was alone in the lounge compartment. He glanced up from a sheaf of papers he was studying as Brand closed the door quietly behind him.
“Any sign?”
Brand shook his head. He sat across from McCord, tossing his hat down beside him.
“Haven’t seen him but I’m damned sure he’s on board.”
“You and your feelings!” McCord muttered and returned to his papers.
“Where’s Sarah?”
“Miss Debenham has retired to her compartment,” McCord said.
Miss Debenham!
Brand smiled to himself as he recalled the night he had spent with Sarah. There hadn’t been much that could be called ladylike about her then. To hell with titles. As far as he was concerned she was simply Sarah. A beautiful and desirable young woman who had shared his bed.
