Bodie 8

by Neil Hunter

  He felt the tunnel wall curving, telling him it was moving him around a bend. Bodie followed step by step, testing with his feet that there were no unseen holes that might trap him. His slow progress seemed to have gone on for hours. He had lost the ability to gauge the passage of time. All he really knew was he had walked for a long time. He felt the ground underfoot slope down, then level out again. His boots splashed into water and the hand feeling its way along the wall of the tunnel encountered moisture. Water seeping from the deep levels of the rock. He touched his fingers to his lips. The water was ice cold. Bodie paused and repeated the action, allowing the moisture to his lips, letting it wet his dry mouth. He cupped his hands to contain more water and drank gratefully. He could feel the chill of the pooled water through his boots as he moved on.

  The bend in the tunnel leveled out. Bodie stopped as he realized there had been a gradual change in the pervading darkness. He looked up and saw the walls of the tunnel outlined against a graying sky, fading starlight showing where the roof of the tunnel had opened up again. He would not have admitted to anyone but himself that he felt relief at the sight.

  The pale illumination exposed the floor of the tunnel as the light grew stronger. Bodie took a look behind him. Where the walls had come together the darkness still existed. He wasn’t sorry to be out of that.

  The coming daylight brought its own concerns. If Bodie could see so could anyone ahead of him. His caution forced him to slow his progress, more so as the tunnel itself widened out.

  Bodie stayed close to the rock wall as he took the final stretch, coming with surprising swiftness to the end of the tunnel. He dropped to a low crouch, tight in against the wall and studied the lay of the area confronting him.

  What he could see confirmed what he had been thinking. This was where Gallman had his base.

  A deep, wide basin created by the natural barrier of the escarpment walls. Grass and timber. Water spouting from a spring, feeding into a rock pan, then extending from that into a stream that coursed across the basin floor until formed a steady pool. Bodie was able to see the timber and stone construction of the extensive cabin, flanked by a corral and a couple of smaller outbuildings. As daylight spread, allowing Bodie a clearer view, he saw there were a number of horses in the corral. He counted at least nine. That didn’t mean there presence of nine men. Three of them would be the ones taken from Ruby and her now dead companions. Simply extra mounts in the remuda. The reverse side of the coin might show different. There might easily be more men around and Bodie didn’t discount the possibility.

  Bodie studied the layout for a time. He needed to clear his present position. Find himself a spot where he could watch the cabin and make his mind up how to handle things. Off to his left he saw a fall of hefty boulders that must have come down from the high escarpment at some time in the past. They lay in an untidy formation and Bodie saw them as a place to conceal himself. At least sixty feet from where he crouched. Not a great distance but to reach their cover he would have to expose himself. He needed to make his move now, before the light became too strong.

  Once he accepted that he moved. There was no point sitting going over the situation. He eased out of cover, set himself, and ran in a crouched-over position. He didn’t look back. Just powered himself across the open ground and held his rifle close to his chest. He tensed himself for the crash of a shot that thankfully never came and slid into the cover of the rock fall. He found himself a comfortable spot where he could look back across the basin and view the cabin clearly.

  He saw smoke starting to drift from the chimney formation on the timber roof. A little time later the main door opened and a man stepped out, a wooden pail in one hand. His thick, straw colored hair falling to his collar. Bodie watched him cross to the water pool and sink the pail, filling it. The man paused to splash water on his face, shaking his head and sleeving his face.

  Bodie got a good look at the man and the first thing he registered was not recognizing him.

  He was not Gallman, or Wilkerson.

  It confirmed the fact there were more than just two people present in the cabin. How many more Bodie couldn’t work out for the moment.

  He watched the man return to the cabin, with the growing feeling that in the space of a few seconds the odds had gone up. From two to three.

  How many more were inside the cabin?

  Bodie assessed his weapons. The Winchester held fifteen rounds of .44-40 caliber. He had a pair of .45 caliber Colt Peacemakers, each one fully loaded with six rounds apiece. And he had at least that again in his gunrig’s belt loops. A fair count if he used them wisely. It went without saying that Bodie was not in the habit of blazing away regardless. He always attempted to gain the maximum hits during any gunplay. It didn’t always work out that way and he would have been the first to admit to that. On this occasion it would behoove him to contain his shooting until he had a sure target. And he didn’t forget his sheathed knife.

  He saw the cabin door open again and this time he recognized the lean figure of Lang Wilkerson as he crossed to the water source and crouched to scoop up handfuls to wash his face. When Wilkerson walked back to the cabin and stepped inside Bodie was gripping his rifle in tight hands. It would have been an easy shot to put Wilkerson down. Easy but it would have taken away the element of surprise. Bodie wasn’t about to give himself away so easily. He needed to know how many others were inside the cabin. Alerting them for a single target would lose him the element of surprise.

  Bodie leaned back against a curved slab of stone where he could keep the cabin his sightline. He needed to get himself closer to the cabin. Give him the opportunity to check out just how many were inside.

  It was a plan. The only one he could come up with at short notice. And once he had formulated it Bodie put it into action.

  Chapter Sixteen

  It took Bodie an hour of slow, concealed movement to reach the far side of the basin. He kept to the shadows of the fallen rocks and when they petered out he used the spread of the brush and trees at one point. Every time he saw movement by the cabin he was forced to stop and drop to the ground. It was frustrating progress but essential. He had to stay concealed for a long period when one of the cabin’s occupants came out and spent time forking out feed for the corralled horses. The man was in no rush. He was one of the strangers Bodie had been unable to identify. The bearded individual wore spectacles. Bodie lay in an awkward position, with a small, loose rock under him that jabbed into his ribs. He made no attempt to move the rock. It was small movements that could catch a man’s eye even at a distance and Bodie was in no position to stir things up yet. The man finished his feeding and stepped out of the corral, dropping the top bar of the crude gate back into position.

  He stood for a while and just stared around, took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. He replaced the spectacles and turned back to the cabin. When he opened the door Bodie caught a scrap of sound coming from inside. Voices. The door banged shut and Bodie was on his own again. When he moved it was with a sense of urgency. Not through panic. More because he wanted to get his business finished with.

  He reached the outhouses, more a pair of small sheds, and using their bulk to hide himself Bodie eased around the side of the first one, moved to the door and lifted the wooden peg out of the catch. He opened the door far enough to let himself slip inside, taking a look at what was stored there. All he found was an untidy tangle of old leather harness. A worn and moldy saddle. Bodie eased back outside and took a fast few steps to the other shed. Inside it had the same collection of disused items—more tack, old horse blankets, a broken and abandoned wooden chair.

  And a distinct odor he recognized easily.

  Coal oil.

  The smell came from a number of rust streaked metal cans. Most likely used as fuel for lamps. The strong odor would have been unpleasant inside the cabin, which accounted for the cans being kept in the shed. A buildup of vapor inside the cabin could also be the source of an unwanted fore. When th
e oil burned it also gave off noxious smoke…

  Bodie studied the gallon-sized cans, his mind working, and he turned and searched the interior of the shed again. Bodie leaned the Winchester against the side of the hut. Took out his knife and picked up one of the discarded horse blankets. A few quick slashes and he had a section of blanket in his hand. He wrapped it around a shattered leg from the broken chair and secured it with another length of blanket. Unscrewing the top from one of the coal oil cans Bodie soaked the makeshift torch. He retrieved his rifle, tucking it under his left arm, holding the torch in his hand. He picked up the can of oil and eased open the door.

  He checked out the area. No one in sight. Bodie cleared the shed and crossed to the corner of the cabin. Pressed himself against the end wall and put down the rifle again. He felt in a shirt pocket and located the oilcloth wrapped Lucifers there alongside the couple of unsmoked, now crushed, cigars. He extracted one of the matches, scraped it against the butt of his Colt and the moment it flared into life he offered it to the oil-soaked head of the torch. It flamed after a few seconds. Dark smoke billowed out.

  Bodie knew he was taking a calculated chance here. He was about to attempt a move intended to drive the men from the cabin. That was if his plan worked.

  What the hell, he decided, either it did or not…

  He slid around the corner of the cabin, making for the open-shuttered window next to the door. The only good thing was the absence of glass he might have been forced to break. He paused beside the window and took a quick look inside. He caught a glimpse of moving figures on the far side. Bodie didn’t waste any more time. He laid the can on the bottom frame of the opening and let the oil pour inside. The cap enclosure was a wide one so the oil flow was fast. Bodie held on as long as he could, dumping most of the contents before he heard a wild yell from inside the cabin. He let the can fall inside and followed up by dropping the flaming torch inside after it. He turned instantly, retreating to the side of the cabin and snatching up his rifle.

  He knew his plan depended on the spilled oil being ignited by the torch.

  As he broke away from the cabin he could only hear the rising voices from inside, and he knew he was committed like it or not.

  He cut across the open space, aiming to take cover in the thicket near the water.

  He was yards away when he heard a dull sound behind him and throwing a quick look over his shoulder saw a rising burst of flame behind the window that was expanding, with a mass of smoke showing as well…

  Chapter Seventeen

  Kris Lubbock had caught movement at the cabin’s single window. As he turned he saw the metal can resting on the bottom of the frame, oil pouring from it and splashing to the floor, the pool spreading quickly.

  ‘We got trouble,’ he yelled.

  His warning alerted the others and they all turned and saw the threat as the oil can dropped inside, still gushing oil. Before they could fully react a burning, smoking torch was dropped inside the cabin. It hit the floor, the flames wavering for a few seconds before the rising vapor from the spilled oil ignited and a mass of flame erupted, reaching to the roof timbers and expanding across the pool. The sudden heat was enough to make them pull back.

  ‘Son of a bitch,’ Gallman said. ‘We got to get out.’

  Smoke from the blaze was growing and they could taste it each time they took a breath.

  ‘Fire’s covering the window and the damn door,’ Dawson said. ‘Jesus, we’ll burn up. ‘

  ‘I ain’t stayin’ in here to do that,’ Wilkerson said. He snatched up his rifle. ‘No damn way.’

  He took a reckless, headlong run for the window, ignoring the burning oil. His sudden move took him through the flames and out the window as he launched himself forward. It was a desperate move that paid off as Wilkerson cleared the window and hit the ground outside, slamming his head against the solid ground. He landed hard, losing his grip on his rifle as he rolled to smother the flames eating at his lower legs and boots. He twisted back and forth, scooping up dirt to smother the flames, aware that blood was streaming down the side of his face where he had opened a gash on hitting the ground.

  As he pushed to his knees, reaching for the holstered pistol at his side, he saw a tall figure heading for the cover of the thicket by the water hole. Wilkerson stumbled upright, his Colt leveling. He fired a hasty shot, knew he’d missed, but his anger drove him forward to fire again. This time he saw the figure pause, turn, the rifle he was holding coming up to fire.

  ~*~

  Bodie felt the slug’s passing. He hauled himself to a stop and brought the Winchester into play. He had a quick glimpse of a disheveled, bloody-faced and smoke-stained figure, flame and smoke drifting off his scorched pants. The man was hatless, face streaked with dirt, but recognizable as Lang Wilkerson.

  ‘Bastard,’ Wilkerson screamed in his rage.

  He centered his Colt and fired. The slug plucked at Bodie’s sleeve.

  The man hunter’s rifle spoke as Bodie put two .44-40 Winchester slugs into Wilkerson’s body. They ripped in, tearing at flesh and organs, and Wilkerson gave a harsh grunt, toppling to one side. He lay on one side, still gripping the pistol and Bodie took careful aim and put a third shot into the man’s head. Wilkerson’s skull split apart and mushroomed blood and brain matter.

  Bodie heard a splintering crash and saw the cabin door smashed apart. Figures spilling out into the open from the flame and smoke billowing out…

  ~*~

  …as Wilkerson took his dive through the window, Lew Gallman had turned about and directed his two partners to one of the heavy wood benches next to the table. They grabbed it and held it between them, taking a run through the fire and smashed it against the cabin door. The force and the solid weight of the bench had the effect they were hoping for. The wood split, the door driven from its hinges.

  Gallman, Lubbock and Dawson kept moving, beating at the flames as they emerged from the cabin.

  Gallman and Lubbock clawed at the guns they wore, searching for a target, and caught a fleeting glance of Bodie as he crashed through the thicket and trees.

  Jake Dawson fell face down, his clothing soaking up the oil. As he struggled upright, his beard and clothes alight and his spectacles lost, he stumbled forward. A shrill cry burst from his burnt lips as he struggled to put out the flames. He could feel the flesh of his face and hands scorching. Without his spectacles he was unable to see clearly and in his panic turned half-around and slammed into the door frame. His nose was crushed under the impact and blood streamed down his face. Dawson threw up his hands to his damaged nose, falling back and losing his balance again. He fell inside the open doorway, landing on his back and was engulfed in fire. Losing control he thrashed about and simply made things worse as the burning oil ate through his clothing and devoured him. The sound of his screaming carried across the basin…

  ~*~

  …slugs tore at the brush, ripped slivers of wood from the trees. Bodie threw himself forward, ignoring the pull and scratch of the vegetation. The cover provided was scant and he realized it was the best protection he was about to get.

  He felt the solid thump as something struck his left thigh. No pain at first—that came later—but he did feel the wet rush of blood and knew he’d taken a hit. He braced himself as his leg weakened and he fell, slamming to the ground with some considerable force, the rifle bouncing from his grasp. He sucked in a harsh breath and forced himself to reach behind for the Colt in his belt. Knowing what was coming Bodie hauled out his holstered Colt as well, twisting over onto his back as he heard the noise of Gallman and Lubbock pushing into the thicket.

  Twelve damn shots, he told himself. If you can’t put them down with twelve shots it’s time you quit the job.

  Through the tangle of brush he made out a moving figure. Close, but not close enough.

  Come on, you sonofabitch.

  Bodie wanted to see the whites of the man’s eyes.

  Both pistols had their hammers back and Bodie’s fing
ers on the triggers as he brought them both up.

  The looming figure stepped briefly into view, clear against the backdrop of the open sky. His searching eyes rested briefly on Bodie’s face.

  Saw the raised pistols and his mouth dropped open in shock because he knew he was staring death in the face…

  Bodie stared back, recognition in his eyes as he saw Lew Gallman.

  Then he pulled both triggers. Felt the guns kick back against his grip as they spat out flame and smoke.

  Gallman’s face vanished, leaving behind torn flesh and shattered bone, then a wash of blood as he fell back without uttering a sound. A pulpy, ragged bulge formed on the back of his skull. He hit the ground and his body curled in a reflexive action as he died.

  The moment he fired Bodie twisted and caught a fragment of movement nearby. He lurched to his feet, bracing himself against a tree and faced the surviving figure as Kris Lubbock moved into view, his pistol sweeping back and forth as he searched for Bodie.

  Their eyes locked briefly, each recognizing their adversary.

  ‘I should have known,’ Lubbock said. ‘Couldn’t have been anyone else but you, Bodie. Ain’t no other man could have stayed on Gallman’s trail for so damn long…’

  His gun leveled, finger already easing back on the trigger.

  Bodie leaned forward and Lubbock had to alter his aim, yet he was only a fraction behind when the crash of his shot merged with the response from Bodie who triggered both his Colts repeatedly, the rolling thunder of his fire rolling out across the basin and echoing off the high walls of the escarpment, even as he felt the impact of a slug from Lubbock’s gun.