Hard Trail to Socorro (Bodie Kendrick - Bounty Hunter Book 1)
Page 17
"Lucky I'm thick-skulled," Kendrick said.
"Thick-skulled, indeed." The captain planted his fists on his hips. "Mr. Kendrick, you're a damn fool, ignoring government warnings and circumnavigating Army patrols the way you did to travel through this country. But you're also a very brave man. And a lucky one ... In addition to owing you directly for the lives of two of my men, I'm forced to admit we probably would never have rounded up Fire Shirt's renegades so soon if your group hadn't occupied them here and then put them afoot the way you did. Not to mention, of course, you personally slaying their heathen leader himself."
Kendrick was at a loss. "Me ... personally slaying who?"
Captain Lowry held out his hand in a dramatic gesture. One of the other officers, a dour-faced man wearing a doctor's blood-stained white smock over his uniform, laid Kendrick's Bowie knife in it. The captain in turn held out the knife to Kendrick. "I believe this is yours, sir."
"I took it out of Fire Shirt's carcass after we rolled him off you," the doctor said. "You had him split damn near in two."
For the first time Kendrick realized the identity of the relentless warrior with the fiery eyes. He told himself he should have known...
The bounty hunter glanced at Veronica, then back to the officers. "The others in our group?"
The doctor made a motion with his hand. "Your Mr. Brade is over yonder somewhere, resting on a stretcher. I only just a few minutes ago finished redressing the wound to his leg. The big, bearded fellow is with him."
"Saltillo Bob didn't make it out of the barricades," Veronica said. Her face clouded. "Jory Ludek didn't make it, either."
"What?" Kendrick said. "Ludek had it made it clean—he was riding ahead of me."
Veronica shook her head. "He turned back to help you. The way it looked, you and Fire Shirt must have been locked in your struggle. Several other Apaches were running up on foot. Ludek rode his horse straight into them. The soldiers started arriving about then, but they were too late to save him."
"We were camped a short ways to the south without any idea how close we were to this situation," Captain Lowry said. "When we heard the report of that shotgun of yours, we naturally mounted up and came with all haste. Unfortunately, as indicated by Miss Fairburn, we weren't in time to save your friend."
"Some of the front-riding troopers saw it and told me," Callahan said. "Jory was right in the middle of a whole tangle of Apache bucks, both guns blazing. More kept coming at him over the dunes. One of them put a war lance through his heart. He at least wouldn't have suffered ... and we got to him before they could do anything more to him."
"He came back and rode right into 'em ... straight ahead," Kendrick said, his voice sounding distant.
"What's that?"
"Never mind. Nothing." Kendrick pushed himself to his feet. "Where is he?"
The doctor pointed.
They walked past where the bullet-riddled bodies of several Apaches were piled in a heap. Kendrick recognized the features of Fire Shirt mashed ingloriously near the bottom of the pile. Across the wash, he saw a handful of Indian survivors, shackled together, being roughly shoved into a wagon by a guard of rifle-brandishing soldiers.
Ten feet beyond the pile of bodies, a single form lay, covered by a stained sheet. Ludek's boots stuck out from under one end of the sheet.
Kendrick stood over the sheeted corpse for several clock ticks. The others gave him some room, held back and stayed quiet.
When the bounty hunter looked up, he saw Brade limping in their direction. The doctor saw him, too.
"I thought I told you to stay off that leg!"
Brade waved him away. "Yeah, yeah, doc. Whatever you say ... But in a minute, okay?"
He came over and stood next to Kendrick. Kermit, who had been trailing in his wake, hung back with the others.
"Well," Brade said. "Your plan worked, bounty man. Most of us made it. Would have, even without the Army I expect."
Kendrick said, "Yeah. Most of us ... except the one we been fighting over." He squinted at Brade. "Indians are out of the way, too. You still going to kill me now?"
Brade chewed a corner of his lip, as if considering it. Then he grinned wearily. "Not today, I don't reckon. Tell you the truth, I'm too damn tired."
Kendrick shrugged. "I'm in no hurry."
A hot wind stirred out of nowhere, rolling back a corner of the sheet, exposing Ludek's left arm. The blood-smeared hand still clenched in death one of his Colts.
"They say he took a mess of those red devils with him," Brade said.
Kendrick stooped to smooth the sheet back down. When he straightened, he said, "He was all the way clear. He could have rode clean away from them—and us."
"Yeah, some fellas got a way of surprisin' you sometimes." Brade sighed. "Old Man Grodine'd probably be happier over a corpse than nothing. He could still do his carving on it, put it up for display and ridicule and the like."
"Uh-huh. And the Socorro reward is dead or alive—I'd have no trouble still collecting my bounty."
Together, they continued to stare down at the lifeless lump under the sheet.
At length, Kendrick said, "He kept worrying about his bones ending up here in this desert. But a man could do worse than to stay with the ground where he stood a final brave fight. Lot of good boys during the war came to settle for that."
"Did for a fact." Brade absently reached down and rubbed his freshly bandaged thigh. "You reckon they got a couple spare shovels and a chaplain in this outfit?"
"Ought to have," Kendrick allowed.
Brade sighed again. "Lets ask them then … before one of us comes to his damn senses.
About the Author:
Wayne Dundee lives in the once-notorious old cowtown of Ogallala, on the
hinge of Nebraska's panhandle. He relocated there after spending the first
fifty years of his life in the state line area of northern Illinois/southern
Wisconsin. A widower, retired from a managerial position in the magnetics
industry, Dundee now devotes full time to his writing. To date, he has had over twenty novels and nearly three dozen short stories published.
Most of his early work featured his PI protagonist, Joe Hannibal. Titles in the Hannibal series have been translated into several languages and nominated for an Edgar, an Anthony, and six Shamus Awards. Dundee is also the founder and original editor of Hardboiled Magazine.
In recent years Dundee has branched into the Western genre and has gained a growing following there. He is the recipient of three Peacemaker Awards from Western Fictioneers: DISMAL RIVER (best first Western novel 2011); This Old Star (best Western short story 2010); and Adeline (best Western short story 2012).
Dundee is planning more Westerns as well as further novels and stories featuring Joe Hannibal, and hopes to also find time to explore other genres.
You can learn more about Big Wayne and his writing at:
http://fromdundeesdesk.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/Wayne.Dundee