River of Blood

by John J. McLaglen

  Billy Two-Pines jumped down from his horse and bent down beside Matt, grabbing for the Colt at his side. He pulled it away as the kid tried to beat him to it. He got the gun though — round the side of his head, as Billy savagely slapped him with the full-force of the barrel.

  Matt fell back to the ground, fighting against losing control of his senses once again. He lifted his fingers to his temple and they were wet and sticky with his own blood.

  ‘You bastard!’ he shouted in Billy’s leering face. ‘If I was facing you in a fair fight, I’d kill you stone dead!’

  Billy continued to grin down at him. ‘Well, you ain’t, sonny. ’Sides, I didn’t think fair fighting was your style. Thought you only went in for drunks and old men.’

  Matt lashed out with his leg and Billy stamped down on it hard. When Matt had recovered from the sudden shock of pain, he was staring down the barrel of his own Colt.

  His horse whinnied somewhere behind him.

  Billy’s finger began to tighten around the trigger.

  ‘Why should I even think of giving you a fair fight, kid? After what you done? You ain’t even worth the rope for hangin’ you with!’

  The finger squeezed harder. Nothing could stop the instinctive closing of Matt’s eyes at the final second. The roar of the gun was very loud, very close.

  But he felt nothing.

  Then he looked over his shoulder. His black mare was no longer trying to move its head, no longer making any sound.

  ‘Never did like to see an animal suffer, kid,’ said Billy with a broad smile.

  The rest of the posse whooped and shouted and laughed.

  They had been taken in by Billy’s play as well. Now they were well and truly ready for a little fun.

  ‘Thought you had him there, Billy!’

  ‘Yep,’ said Dan, ’fact if you had’ve shot him then I reckon we’d all have had to arrest you and hang you instead!’

  Everyone bellowed with laughter again — except Matt.

  Which didn’t go unnoticed.

  ‘What’s the matter, you scared of cracking your face or something?’

  ‘Reckon as how he thinks if he smiles overmuch, Billy will crack his face with that gun again.’

  ‘Yep. That’s so. Ain’t it, kid? You ain’t so smart and brave when your guns ain’t tied to you, are you?’

  The man accompanied his last taunt with a kick at the bottom of Matt’s boot.

  ‘Well, Dan,’ said Billy to the deputy, ‘now we’ve got him what we gonna do with him? We got to take him all the way back into town for trial and all that nonsense?’

  Three or four of the others joined in with Billy’s remarks.

  Matt looked around the men and saw the stirrings of lynch-fever showing in their faces.

  ‘How about you, boy? Reckon as how you’re worth taking back into town?’

  ‘Hell, no, he was headin’ back there anyhow. No sense in taking him where he wanted to get to. We ought to deal with him here and now.’

  More shouts. More hollers of excitement.

  Billy kicked down on Matt once more. ‘Ain’t saying much, kid. I think you got so scared when you thought I was gonna shoot you in the head that you done shat yourself!’

  ‘That’s right,’ laughed Dan. ‘He’s sitting there stuck to the ground by his own shit!’

  The deputy slapped his hand down hard upon his own thigh and laughed aloud for several seconds.

  But Billy Two-Pines was not to be outdone as the centre of attraction if he could help it.

  ‘Hey, now, Dan, that’s not the kid’s shit you can smell. That’s just old Hank here, stinking like his stable again?’

  The men again collapsed into raucous laughter. Matt looked around, anxious for some opportunity of escape. He saw his Colt, the one that had fallen from his holster when he was thrown from his horse, lying some fifteen yards away.

  As yet, unnoticed.

  If only . . . if only.

  ‘Hey, Dan!’ called one of the men standing at the back of the circle, ‘Why don’t we drag him down to that tree by the river there? That’d be high enough to dangle his feet from.’

  The men looked down to the river.

  ‘Why, if we took his boots if he could even give his feet a wash at the same time?

  ‘Yep!’ whooped Billy Two-Pines. ‘Make sure he damn well gets to meet his maker clean as the day he was born.’

  ‘You’re forgettin’ somethin’,’ interrupted the deputy. ‘He won’t be goin’ to meet no maker. He’s goin’ down below the ground, for sure. Yes, sir, down below for certain.’

  Two of the men grabbed Matt by the shoulders and began to drag him backwards along the ground. The kid dug in heels and broke their grip, but hands reached down for his legs and hoisted him up sharply, so that his head banged on the rough earth. Then he was whirled around in a circle and bounced down the slope towards the river.

  There, more eager hands grabbed at him and someone dropped a noose over his neck.

  Christ! They sure were ready for this, Matt thought.

  And then they were lifting him into the saddle of one of the horses.

  ‘If’n you got any prayin’ in ya, then now’s the time,’ said Dan.

  ‘Yep,’ added Billy. ‘You’d best be quick, else you’ll choke on your words!’

  Matt thought not of prayer, but of escape. He pushed with his fingers through the rope with which they had bound him and seized hold of the leather at the rear of the saddle.

  His knees dug hard into the side of the animal beneath him, his feet ready to strike it into motion. He knew that the end of the rope had not yet been secured over the branch of the tree. He could hear the men arguing about whose weight should pull it down and hold it until the horse was driven away, leaving his body dangling over the edge of the small river.

  Matt was conscious of the sound of water moving easily over stones: he didn’t want it to be the last thing he heard.

  ‘Ha!’ Matt shouted as loud as he could and struck into the horse’s body. It reared sharply, throwing off the hand that held it by the bridle. Matt swung his body down low and to one side of the neck, digging his heels into the animal yet again.

  He heard shouts and then the sound of gunfire behind him, kept his head low and tried to maintain his balance as he used his legs to direct the horse away from the river and towards the hills that rose up away to the right.

  There was the noise of men beginning to ride after him. Then another shot rang out across the bright daylight. A shot from in front.

  Matt heard a cry from one of the riders following, followed by more shouts of surprise. Whoever was doing the shooting wasn’t aiming at the escaping Matt. He was taking pot shots at the posse.

  The kid looked ahead and saw a puff of smoke curl up from behind a dip on the nearest hill. Heard another shout of pain from behind. Heard the horses being noisily reined in, turning around, heading for cover.

  Matt kept going, urging the horse to climb up to where the shooting was coming from.

  As he neared the spot, a man stood up suddenly and grabbed at the horse’s trailing rein, pulling it to a halt.

  Matt jumped down, hands still tied behind his back, eyes bright with surprise.’

  ‘You’d better duck down, kid,’ Herne said. ‘They’re not going to wait around all day.’

  Matt didn’t need telling twice. He got down behind the rising ground and turned with his back to Herne.

  ‘Cut me loose,’ he said.

  Herne reached down into his boot for the bayonet and flicked it between skin and rope, severing the cords in a single movement.

  Matt turned in time to see the blade sliding back into its sheath and whistled. ‘Get to use that much?’

  ‘Now and again,’ Herne grinned. ‘Now and again.’

  Then his right hand moved from the edge of his boot to his holster so fast that all Matt saw was a blur of movement and then he was looking at the business end of the big Colt .45.

  For the secon
d time in a very short while, the boy knew fear. Herne looked at him and knew what was going on in his mind. He swiveled the gun round on the trigger guard and handed the butt to Matt.

  ‘Here. You’d better use this. I’ll stick to the Sharps.’

  Matt took the offered gun and leaned against the ground, looking down for a sign of the posse turning back and trying again. Sure, Herne had been giving him the gun. Not only that, though. He had been doing something else. Showing him how fast he still was. Warning him.

  And Matt Bronson didn’t like being warned.

  ‘How long you bin up here?’ he asked Herne.

  ‘’Bout fifteen minutes. Just lay here and watched.’

  Matt looked round at him. ‘You sure took your time about making any kind of play, didn’t you.’

  Herne returned his stare. ‘Waited to see what you was going to do about it yourself first. You seem to think you’re so all-fired hot.’

  Matt turned away and spat.

  ‘What if they’d got that rope tied?’ he asked.

  Herne shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘Guess maybe I’d have taken a shot at the rope. Maybe.’

  ‘And what if you’d missed?’ Matt asked.

  Herne just looked into his eyes for second after second.

  ‘Wouldn’t have been time for another shot. Guess you’re Neck would have snapped. Wouldn’t have been much point in bringing you down then. Difficult anyway, with the rope bouncing and swinging like it does.’

  Matt looked away. He didn’t ask any more questions.

  There wouldn’t have been time anyway. The posse were on their way.

  They had split themselves into two groups. Billy Two-Pines rode at the front of one group; Dan headed the other.

  ‘Wait until they’re well within range,’ ordered Herne. ‘Put the first couple of shots in front of the leading horses. If they keep coming at us, then aim for their arms. If your aim’s that good.’

  Herne lowered his head to the sights on his Sharps and waited. The two groups fanned out, making their approach from wide angles, forcing the attention of the two men apart. Matt drew a bead on Billy’s head, then his horse, then the ground over which he galloped. Held it, lowering the Colt gradually. Fired. Twice. .

  The earth kicked up in front of Billy Two-Pines, who showed no sign of stopping.

  On the other side, Herne’s warning had been no more successful.

  ‘Remember!’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Try not to kill the stupid sons-of-bitches!’

  Both men fired simultaneously. Dan’s rifle seemed to be snatched away by some sudden wind and he rocked back in the saddle, a slug embedded deep into the flesh of his shoulder. Billy screamed as Matt’s bullet smashed his elbow on his left arm, swung hard to one side of his saddle, then fell headlong on to the earth.

  The men riding close behind tried to ride round him, but they were travelling very close. After the horses had passed over him, Billy Two-Pines made no further movement. Both Matt and Herne were firing again, still trying to turn the men back without getting hit themselves.

  The bunch on Herne’s side swung around in a wide arc and kept on going, back down towards the river. For the others it was less easy. The incline of the hill made it impossible for them to turn away. They either had to keep going straight or swing across the line of fire.

  Most of the group decided on the latter course. One didn’t.

  Hank kept on coming, head down, pistol in hand, outstretched and firing as he came.

  Matt aimed finally at the man’s head. Missed and shot the horse between the eyes. The animal kept going a couple of paces and then stopped as though it had run into an invisible wall.

  Hank’s body carried on through that wall which didn’t exist and before it hit the ground he was struck by a bullet which did.

  Matt looked round and saw Herne lowering his rifle.

  ‘Saved him from breaking his neck,’ Herne shrugged.

  ‘Seems to me that’s what I’m around for today.’

  The two of them looked down the hill at the disappearing posse.

  ‘They’re off back to Floyd,’ said Matt.

  ‘That’s where you were heading,’ said Herne. It was a flat statement, not a question but the kid decided to treat it differently.

  ‘Who says I was?’

  ‘I said. Where else could you have been going?’

  ‘I could have been using the river to cover my tracks,’ said Matt, but he didn’t even sound convinced by it himself.

  Herne said, ‘I’d sure hate to have gone to all this trouble to find that I’ve got to lace up to you myself?

  ‘What makes you think you’d have to do that?’ asked Matt, backing away slightly from the bigger man.

  ‘Depends what you was going back to town for.’

  ‘If I was going back.’

  ‘Which you was.’

  Matt stood with Herne’s .45 in his right hand, hanging at arm’s length by his side.

  Herne was holding his rifle in his right hand, with the barrel resting in the crook of his left arm.

  ‘You still got my gun,’ Herne observed.

  Matt Bronson said nothing. Looked at him. At the rifle. Tossed a coin in his mind. When it had landed, he offered Herne his gun, butt first.

  ‘Might be lucky you done that,’ said Herne as he holstered his weapon.

  Matt ignored the remark and asked instead what they were going to do next.

  ‘Don’t know about you, but Becky and me’s riding east.’

  ‘Can I tag along for a while?’

  Herne looked at him. ‘You reckon you can walk fast enough to keep up with two people on horseback? That mount they put you on’s run off.’

  ‘I thought you had a spare horse.’

  ‘You thought a whole lot about us — or about one of us.’

  Matt looked back down the hill. ‘There’s always the chance they’ll come back with more men from town.’

  Herne nodded. ‘Yep. You can double up with me until we meet Becky where I arranged. Then we’ll move some of the supplies and you can ride the pack horse. Just till we get somewhere you can get a mount of your own. Then I reckon you’ll want to be on your way.’

  He turned and walked around the hill to where his horse was tethered. Matt waited for a while, then followed.

  The two men said nothing as they rode on Herne’s mount towards the meeting place. That didn’t mean there weren’t things they would have liked to say - both of them. But for now they kept quiet.

  Not so Becky when she saw the pair of them riding along the trail towards her. She called out to them happily and when they dismounted she threw her arms around them both and hugged them to her.

  Both men felt uneasy about her actions in the presence of the other. But Becky was so overjoyed that she did not notice any sign of tension. When she climbed back on to her horse, there were tears in her young eyes.

  Nine

  The three of them travelled on south of the Red River, moving across country to the west. Matt bought a mount from a rancher who didn’t know the value of his stock too well, and Herne took the trailing rope of the pack horse.

  Which meant that the two youngsters could ride along behind, side by side. Herne was irritated by this, then even more irritated by his initial reaction.

  Why the hell shouldn’t they talk to one another if they wanted to? What was it to him?

  He surveyed the surrounding territory. All the while anticipating the sudden flash from a gun barrel, the partly-hidden movement that would tell him that Coburn was watching and about to make his move.

  But there was nothing.

  Herne decided to make camp early, a couple of miles from Fort Worth. He didn’t fancy another night in a town teeming with cattlemen, with gamblers and drunks and whores.

  The open land and the stars seemed a better prospect.

  After they had eaten some bacon and beans and drunk coffee, Matt began to get restless.

  ‘I’m going to take
a ride into town for a while, just to look around while it’s still light. Anything you want?’

  Herne shook his head and threw the coffee grounds across the grass.

  ‘How about you, Becky?’ asked Matt.

  The girl looked into his face but also shook her head.

  ‘No, thanks, Matt,’ she said, so he untied his horse and rode off towards Fort Worth.

  ‘Damn young fool can’t settle down for a minute,’ Herne observed a little later.

  ‘I expect you were the same at his age,’ said Becky.

  He didn’t answer, knowing it to be the case. Knowing that it held true even now. Except tonight. Tonight was somehow different. Yet he didn’t know how.

  Then he realized that he wasn’t thinking about the sky now, or as it would be when night came: he was thinking about Louise. It had been on a day like this that he’d first ridden up to her place and asked her she’d kindly go with him to the barn-dance.

  He couldn’t remember which of them had blushed more strongly.

  The rest he could recall: every minute, every look, every touch.

  ‘What are you thinking about?’ Becky asked him.

  ‘Just things,’ replied Herne testily. ‘Why you asking?’

  ‘No reason. I thought somehow from the expression on your face that you might have been thinking about . . . about . . . ’

  ‘Yes?’

  Becky stood up and turned her back to him.

  ‘It doesn’t matter,’ she finally said.

  Herne set to and began to clean his rifle, chewing at a piece of bacon which had become lodged between his teeth.

  It wasn’t that long before they heard someone riding back towards them, travelling fast. Herne pulled his rifle clear of its holster alongside his saddle. Swung the saddle itself along the ground in front of him. Steadied the Sharps on top.

  After a few minutes, he lowered the gun and sat round on his haunches, waiting. It was Matt.

  The kid reined in hard, sending clumps of earth flying around the camp.

  ‘What you trying to do, son? Get through a new mount every couple of days?’

  Matt jumped down and squatted by the shouldering fire.

  ‘Don’t take to doing things slow if they can be done fast. That’s all. Anyways, there won’t be much time.’