by Neil Hunter
‘It appears I owe you an apology, Mr. Brand,’ Virginia said. ‘I’ve been thinking you were just being unsociable and all the time there was nothing you had to tell me.’
‘Maybe I should have told you back in Butte.’ Brand grinned. ‘Course you probably wouldn’t have given me the job if you’d known.’
‘I offered you the job on the basis of what I saw in Butte. And I don’t think I judged wrongly.’
‘Now you know what I did for a living mebbe you want to change your mind.’
Virginia shook her head. ‘I doubt that very much, Mr. Brand. You proved yourself to me back in Butte and you certainly appear competent out here.’
‘You still want to carry on?’
‘Of course. Mr. Brand, you may have lost your memory but you certainly haven’t lost whatever ability you possess. I am confident that ability will see us through to Bannock.’
‘We’ll be starting early. Best if you get as much rest as you can.’
Virginia nodded. She moved away from the fire and unrolled her blankets. She busied herself spreading them on the floor of the cave.
‘Mr. Brand, you will wake me? If there is any trouble I mean.’
‘If we have trouble, ma’am, I doubt there’ll be any need to wake you. You’ll hear it.’ Brand feed more wood to the fire. ‘But if it’ll help you sleep easier – don’t fret. I’ll let you know if there’s a need.’
‘Thank you, Mr. Brand.’
Finishing his coffee Brand buttoned his coat, picked up his rifle and stepped outside the cave. He took a walk to where the horses were tethered. They lifted their heads as he approached but once they recognized him they went back to their grazing. Circling away from the horses Brand walked some distance away from the cave. He stopped when he figured he’d gone far enough. He could see the fire blazing just outside the cave. It threw plenty of light across the white slope fronting the cave. Luckily there was no cover within a couple of hundred feet of the cave. As long as he kept the fire going nobody was liable to sneak up on them, and at least they would stay reasonably warm. No point in the pair of them freezing to death.
He retraced his steps back to the cave. Kicking the snow from his boots Brand picked up his blankets and found himself a spot at the cave mouth. He draped the blankets round his shoulders, filled himself a cup of steaming coffee and settled his back against the stone behind him. He glanced across at Virginia’s still form, and for a fleeting second found himself wondering what it would he like to be under the blankets with her. He felt his body stir, felt the swelling warmth in his groin, and called himself every kind of a fool to allow himself to harbor such thoughts at such a time. He had a long night ahead. No time to let himself get all hot and bothered by his imagination. He knew he’d do better concentrating on the job in hand. He would have felt easier in his mind if he’d known from the start the kind of opposition he might be up against.
He was literally in the dark over the matter. There could be a dozen of them out there. Or two dozen. Then again none at all. His only course was to keep his eyes open and he ready if and when something did happen.
Much later, as he jerked his cold-stiffened body into movement, reaching to refill his cup with more coffee, he noticed the first flakes of a fresh fall of snow. Within a few minutes the fall had become heavy. Brand watched it with mixed feelings. It might make the job of any pursuers that much more difficult but it wasn’t going to do anything to ease his own problems.
Chapter Six
Running had been the only way out left to Jack Bell.
He was no coward. Nor a fool. He was simply a man who had come to realize how close to death he was. True to his stubborn nature he had kept on working, doing what he could to find out who was behind the mine’s troubles. The early warnings he’d received to stop his investigations had rolled off Jack Bell’s back as water off a duck’s. Then two attempts on his life had finally etched the message into his mind, and he suddenly became aware he was in the most difficult position of his life. Bell had been in the mining business since he his seventeenth birthday. It was a hard life and a man needed to be just as hard to stay alive. Jack Bell had been in tight corners before. He had survived cave-ins, explosions and any number of natural calamities. He had faced human problems too and had always walked away unhurt. But this time he realized the only way he was going to stay alive was by getting clear of Bannock.
The final warning had been direct and designed to silence him for good. Bell had almost walked into the set up blind, but a moment of sheer good luck had come his way, allowing Bell to not only finally identify the mine foreman he had suspected of being behind the betrayal, but had exposed the man he was conspiring with. When the two had parted company, laying the final seeds of the trap for Bell, he had gone after the treacherous foreman and had confronted him. The man had panicked at his exposure and the realization his plan was not going to work. In his panic he had gone for Bell, striking at him with a knife. The struggle had been short and had ended with Bell standing over the only man he had ever killed, still with the other man’s knife in his hand.
Unsure who else he could trust Bell had decided it was time to get out. He needed to get clear of the mine, allowing himself the chance of telegraphing Virginia Maitland and warning her that the threat against the mine was real.
He had ridden out while the storm raged about him. The hostile elements held no fear for him. Jack Bell knew the country and he knew how to survive. He figured the chance worth taking.
He hadn’t counted on the man named Puma, the one he had seen with the now dead foreman. Bell had heard the name before. A silent, menacing figure, known simply by the one name - Puma. A killer by trade and by choice, Puma was a man apart from all others. He was part white-part Indian, and he was all bad. Jack Bell had known Puma’s kind before. They hired out for money when someone needed a killing done. They were hated and feared. Despised by those who hired them as well as those they went against. But no man ever spoke openly against men like Puma. Unless they had tired of life. Jack Bell bad no cause to like Puma but he had sense enough to respect the man’s skill, repellant as it was. He knew his deadly reputation and he also knew that the man had a long record of successful kills—and he had never been caught.
Bell became aware of Puma’s presence towards the end of the first day out from the mine. The snowstorm had eased off towards the end of the afternoon. The brutal wind had dropped and the snow also lightened. It was as he had taken his weary horse over the crest of a snow-layered slope, turning in the saddle to check his back trail.
And for the first time he saw the motionless figure on the pale, dun-colored horse. Despite the distance and, despite the glare of the snow, Jack Bell knew who the lone rider was. Only one man would trail another so openly, making no attempt to conceal himself. It was the supreme confidence of the professional man hunter. The inborn skill of the killer breed. It could only be one man.
It could only be Puma.
The low temperature had nothing to do with the icy clutch of fear twisting Jack Bell’s insides. He had looked on the man named Puma and he had felt the landscape lurch with sickening force. Bell figured he had a right to be afraid. He considered himself as tough as the next man but against someone like Puma he was a novice. He hadn’t grown up with a gun in his hand, seeking the lives of others, spilling blood for money. It took a special kind of man to do that - a man like Puma - and only a damn fool would pretend there was no need for concern.
Bell had spurred his horse on, ignoring his earlier caution. He drove the rapidly tiring animal over the undulating, hilly landscape. Somewhere at the back of his mind he knew he was doing wrong. He was risking his own neck as well as the horse’s. But he wanted to get some distance between himself and Puma.
The rifle shot cleaved the air with a crisp, echoing crack. Bell felt his horse shudder. The animal made a shrill sound. Its head dropped and a red spray fountained from its nostrils, fading to a pale pink as it merged with the snow. Bell
hauled up on the reins, knowing it was a futile gesture. He kicked his feet from the stirrups and as his stricken horse stumbled to its knees he rolled from the saddle. He made a grab for the sheathed rifle fastened to the saddle. His cold fingers failed to get a grip. The thick snow cushioned his fall. He skidded forward on his knees, struggling to control his movements, and cursing his own stupidity at letting himself he taken so easily. As he turned back towards his horse, keeping as low as possible, he saw that he’d lost the rifle. The dying horse had fallen on the weapon, pinning it beneath its solid bulk. Bell realized too that there was no time to try and loosen the blanket roll or the food pack tied behind the saddle. If he wanted to stay alive he was going to have to do it with what he was carrying.
He threw a quick glance around, his eyes seeking the closest cover. Over to his left, but at least a hundred yards away lay tangled brush. There was nothing closer. Bell angled away from his horse, his numb fingers jerking at the buttons of his thick coat. A short-barreled .44-40 Colt handgun lay in a holster against his right hip and Bell wanted the weapon in his hand.
He heard the second shot.
A stunning blow caught him in the left shoulder, spinning him off his feet and throwing him face down in the snow. The sudden flare of pain made him cry out. He felt the sharp bite of snow against his face, icy against his lips. Bell struggled upright, ignoring the sickening pain flaring in his shattered shoulder. His left arm dangled uselessly at his side. The bullet had gone right through, bursting out of the front of his coat. A bloody mess of shredded cloth and lacerated flesh marked the coat. He could feel hot blood streaming down his arm, and as he ran he left a spatter of pink on the white snow.
This time he didn’t bother about attempting to keep low. He just ran. Jerking open his coat he yanked out the heavy revolver, gripping the hard butt tightly. He didn’t care that the weapon was only useful at short range. The feel of the weapon gave him comfort, and right then it was important to him.
He missed his footing and crashed face down in the snow. Pain tore through his shoulder and he bit his lip to keep from crying out. This time his face scraped against something hard beneath the soft snow, something which tore at his flesh. Bell twisted over onto his back, dragging himself up off the ground. He stood for a moment, his breath steaming from his mouth in frosty clouds. He blinked his eyes against the glare of the snow, staring at the dark, wavering shape some distance off. He was too far away to see clearly but he knew who it was. A hot flush of anger rose in him and he lifted the hand holding the revolver, his thumb dragging back on the hammer. Then he lowered the gun, his anger abating. He would only waste a bullet. His target was too far away. And would stay that way. The man named Puma was no fool. He wouldn’t allow himself to be drawn into the range of Bell’s gun. Puma carried a long-range rifle. He could stay at a safe distance and put a bullet into Bell just about when he wanted to.
Jack Bell stared at the silent rider. Damn the man. He was like some animal. Lusting after blood. Killing without emotion. For no more than a handful of dollar bills.
Aware suddenly of his exposed position Bell broke into a stumbling run, hampered by the clinging snow. He slipped and slid across the open ground, closing the gap between himself and the distant brush. With every passing second he expected to hear the vicious crack of Puma’s rifle. He was yards off the brush when the anticipated shot came. It struck the snow inches from his left foot, and Bell knew he’d been given a momentary reprieve. He found himself counting the seconds as he visualized Puma working the lever of the rifle, pushing another shell into the chamber, lifting and aiming, his finger easing back on the trigger.
Bell saw the tangled mass of brush ahead and threw himself forward. Dimly he heard the crash of the shot. Something hot burned its way across his right hip, clipping bone, and spinning him helplessly. He smashed through the brush, rolling as he bit the hard ground beneath. Gasping air into his burning lungs Jack Bell crawled deeper into the brush. He clenched his teeth against the pain of his wounds and kept moving. Puma would still be looking for him. The half breed wasn’t the type to quit. He wouldn’t give up the hunt until one of them was dead, Bell knew that and he didn’t intend being the one to die. He still had his revolver clutched in his right hand. If the opportunity arose he’d use the gun on Puma without hesitation.
Somewhere far behind him he heard a horse snort. The thick brush crackled and snapped as a heavy bulk forced its way through. Bell peered through the tangled brush ahead. He had no idea in which direction he was moving. Not that it made much difference. He was only interested in getting some distance between himself and Puma. He needed time to rest. Time to tend to his wounds if he was able.
He felt the soft snow beneath him slide away. For a moment he didn’t understand what was happening. He was too late by the time realization came to him. He caught a glimpse of the white slope below him, dropping away forever it seemed. Then there was no more time for anything. He was falling, his body twisting as it dropped into space. After a time his body struck something and he began to slide. More than once hard objects slammed against his body, sharp things tore at his clothing and at his flesh. Oddly he felt little pain. He became aware too that there was an old silence. He couldn’t even hear his own breathing. His body fell into open space again, then almost as abruptly he came into hard contact with the slope. The impact drove the breath from his body. He knew that he had lost his grip on the revolver. But he realized that it didn’t matter anymore.
Nothing mattered.
His downward flight was stopped. Bell slammed against hard ground. The impact numbed him. He lay barely conscious, his body trembling, throbbing with terrible pain. He tried to lift his head but only succeeded in moving it slightly. He tasted blood in his mouth. There was a sudden heavy roaring sound in his ears. He felt a rush of sickness and his head flopped back onto the snow. He felt all physical sensation slip away. Darkness overtook him. Complete and utter darkness. Bell didn’t try to resist. He let himself slide into the black maw of unconsciousness.
Chapter Seven
‘What do you think these people are after?’
Brand had asked the question while they’d been eating breakfast. He had caught Virginia’s slight shrug.’
‘I can only guess, Mr. Brand. It might simply be an attempt to put the Maitland mines out of business. There are a number of rival companies who certainly wouldn’t shed any tears if Maitland Copper ceased to operate. Then it could be union trouble. Militant union groups have been known to go to extreme measures to get what they want.’
‘Even though you told me your father had always dealt fairly with his workers?’
Virginia smiled. ‘Unfortunately there are those in the unions who are more interested in obtaining a stronger hold on a company than they are in the fact that the workers are already getting a fair deal.’
‘Has your company issued shares?’
‘Certainly. I hold the majority but there is a substantial stock issue. An extremely profitable issue too.’
‘But it has been known for stockholders to sell and then the issuing company finds itself in trouble?’
‘By all means, Mr. Brand. The shares of Maitland Copper are only as good as the company which brought them into being. If the company goes through hard times the shares reflect that difficulty.’
‘The price drops and a lot of shares can be bought cheaply?’
‘Mr. Brand, you’ve given me food for thought as well as food for my stomach. Virginia put down her empty plate. ‘Perhaps Jack Bell will be able to tell us more.’
Within an hour they had cleared camp, saddled the horses and moved out. The snow was still falling but they could see their way clearly. A gentle wind gusted down off the higher peaks, gathering dusty coils of snow. The unmarked trail they were following led higher onto the forested slopes. Brand unsheathed his rifle, preferring to have the weapon out and ready. He let his horse pick its way across the undulating blanket of snow, using his eyes to scan the surro
unding heights, the dark lines of trees. There were, he realized, a damn lot of places where man could hide. Maybe too many. But there was no safer way to get where they were going.
Towards the middle of the morning they were moving along the floor of a long valley. Steep slopes, rippled by drifted snow, reared up on either side. Brand was beginning to feel hemmed in, and there was the hint of an itchy spot between his shoulders. It could have been the product of an over-active imagination. On the other hand ...
‘Mr. Brand.’
Brand reined in hard, jerking his horse about. He threw a quick glance towards Virginia. Her voice had been low, controlled, yet urgent, and even now she kept a grip on her emotions.
‘I saw a rider. On the top of the slope. To the right.’
Brand twisted his body, searching the uneven line of the rim above them. He couldn’t see anything. No movement. No out of place shape.
‘Just one?’ he asked.
Virginia nodded. ‘Yes.’ She stared at him for a moment. ‘I didn’t imagine it, Mr. Brand,’ she added, her tone edged with ice.
‘Take it easy. I’m not doubting you.’
‘Sorry.’
Brand nodded. ‘Just keep looking,’ he said.
There was no reply from Virginia. Brand saw that she was looking over his shoulder. By the look in her eyes she’d seen something. He saw the color drain from her cheeks. Brand hauled himself round in his saddle, swinging his rifle ahead of him, not certain what he was about to face.
For a moment he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him. He appeared to be looking at a living snowman. A shuffling, slow-moving creature formed from the very snow and ice around them. But then he realized that it was a man. Covered in crusted, frozen snow that had formed itself to the body and the face, clinging to the very features. He saw, too, the brownish stains showing through the crusted white.
