Blood Bond 5

by William W. Johnstone

  “We didn’t come for no coffee,” the visitor growled. He lifted the muzzle of the carbine menacingly. And looked a little disappointed to see that Matt did not seem particularly menaced.

  “Suit yourself,” Matt told him. “But it’s good coffee.”

  “Quit stalling. You know what we want.”

  Matt reached up with his left hand and tipped his hat back, then transferred the coffee cup to that hand. He took another sip, sighed, and set the cup down beside the fire.

  “Don’t stand up. Don’t reach for that gun. Don’t do nothing. Just give it up. Everything. Drop the gun belt, empty your pockets, and step back. We’ll be taking what we want an’ then move along. Don’t give us no trouble and you’ll still be alive when we leave here.”

  Matt seemed to think that over. He pondered the comments in silence for a moment, then nodded. “Yes, I can see that I will still be alive. But will you?”

  “What? Mister, what’re you talking about?”

  “I’m talking about you and your partners,” Matt said.

  “I’ve offered you coffee, nice and friendly. Now I’m offering to let the three of you go.”

  “Let us go? Bub, you’re the one has got three guns pointed at you right now.”

  “Two,” Matt said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Two guns. You and your partners are down to two guns now. My brother has already disarmed the one by the rock there. He would have been the hardest to get lead into, so he had to go first. The thing I don’t know is whether he’s just knocked out or if it was better to kill him. That would have depended on how things looked when my brother reached him. If he had a protected position there he likely had to be killed, but I’m not sure about that. We’ll find out directly, won’t we.”

  “Brother? What brother?”

  “The one you didn’t see when you were trying to sneak up on us.”

  “You’re bluffing.”

  Matt shook his head. “Actually, mister, I am not. And if you push this thing, I will have no choice but to shoot you. My brother will shoot that other fella over there.”

  “I am standing here with a rifle gun aimed at your belly from a distance of ten feet an’ you are squatting there with nothin’ but a coffee cup in your hands. An’ you say you are gonna shoot me?”

  “That’s right,” Matt said agreeably. “That carbine of yours is not cocked. Before you can pull that hammer back and trigger a shot I’ll have lead in you.”

  “Nobody is that fast.”

  Matt’s look was chilling. “I am.”

  “You can’t. . . .” The fellow raised his voice. “Jerry,” he called into the night. “Answer me, Jerry.”

  “Jerry’s the one by the rock?” Matt asked.

  “I. . . . Jerry!”

  “Put your gun down,” Matt said softly. “You can still have that coffee and be on about your business. Whatever it is.”

  The would-be robber’s eyes went wide and the skin at his temples tightened and pulled back. Matt could see it coming, but he had no power to change anything. And no choice.

  The fellow’s thumb rolled back on the hammer of his saddle carbine.

  Matt’s hand flashed and the roar of his Colt shattered the peace of the evening.

  A .45-caliber lead slug thudded into the hollow at the base of the robber’s throat. His head snapped back and his knees sagged.

  A second shot from Matt’s .45 landed just to the side of his nose. The shape of the man’s head distorted and there was a spray of wet gore shining briefly in the firelight.

  At virtually the same instant another muzzle flash outside the camp sent a sudden glow of light over the nearby brush as Sam’s revolver discharged.

  Sam too fired twice from a position close to the rock where the third man had been hiding. Another muzzle flash flared in the brush a moment before Matt heard the sound of a body fall to the ground.

  “Are you all right?” Sam Two-Wolves called.

  “Yeah. You?”

  “He must have had his finger on the trigger. Jerked it when my bullet hit him.”

  “It’s a shame they didn’t settle for the coffee.” The welcome aroma of boiled coffee had been replaced now by the sharp brimstone scent of burnt gunpowder.

  “You make terrible coffee, Matt, but even I admit that it isn’t so bad that a man should die to avoid having to drink it.” Sam’s voice faded as he moved away through the darkness. Several minutes later he came back into the firelight. “Bad news,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “The shot that fellow fired? It clipped your horse’s nigh hock.”

  “Bad?”

  “Bad enough. I’m sorry, Matt. The bone was shattered. I had to put him down.”

  “He was a good horse.”

  “More to the point, he was half of our transportation. I can’t carry you double all the way down into Mexico, and Pete’s letter was worrisome. It has already been several months since he mailed it. It sounded to me like he needs help fast.”

  Matt thought for a moment, then grunted. “I’ll tell you what I think we should do. We’ll ride double until we get down to the road. I’m fairly sure there is coach service along there. You can drop me beside the road and you get on down to San Iba. I’ll catch a ride into Tucson, buy a horse there, and follow just as soon as I can.”

  “That could put you a couple days behind me.”

  “If you have a better idea I’d be glad to hear it.”

  Sam shook his head. “No, under the circumstances I suppose it would be best.”

  “Come on then. Let’s drag those fellows clear of the camp. In the morning we can take a few minutes to cover them with rocks and brush or maybe find a slope where we can spill some loose gravel down on them. We’ll read over them before we go.”

  Sam nodded, then hunkered down beside their dying fire and reached for both the cup he had abandoned there and the pot of coffee—very good coffee despite his complaints—that Matt had made.

  3

  Matt had begun to think he was wrong about finding traffic on this road. The sun had already passed its zenith and was sliding down toward the western horizon before someone finally came along, and then it was not the public coach he’d been expecting but a rattling buckboard with a woman and two small boys in it. He had started walking toward that distant horizon several hours earlier and was dusty and footsore.

  He set his gear down and stepped out into the road so the lady would have little choice but to either stop her team or run him over. She looked at first like she would elect to trample him under the feet of her two browns, but at the last moment she pulled them to a halt. Matt touched the brim of his hat respectfully, then took it off and held it in both hands.

  “Ma’am. I’m surely glad to see you. I wonder could you give me a ride to the nearest settlement? I’m afraid I’ve lost my horse.” He smiled, one of his twenty-four-karat smiles that was pretty much guaranteed to melt the heart of any young lady, even a married one such as this.

  She looked nervous, so he pointed to his gear piled beside the twin tracks of the road and added, “A body just hasn’t any notion how much stuff he’s carrying until he’s the one carrying it himself.”

  When even that didn’t appear to sway her, he ratcheted up the intensity of the smile another notch or two and said, “I’d be happy to pay for your time and trouble, ma’am.”

  The older boy, who looked to be nine or ten, nudged his mom’s elbow and whispered something to her. The lady’s expression did not soften, but her posture did. A little.

  “My husband is not with us,” she announced, as if he could not see that plain as day.

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Are you a married man?”

  “No, ma’am, I’m afraid I haven’t the privilege of finding my life’s companion yet,” he answered.

  The boy whispered to her again.

  “It would shame me to ask payment for a simple kindness,” she said.

  �
�You never asked for anything, ma’am. I offered,” Matt reminded her.

  “I, uh. . . .”

  “It’d be a true kindness,” Matt said. “I am a stranger in need.”

  “Well. . . .”

  “Please, Mama. He says he’d pay!” The boy turned his attention to Matt. “How much you gonna pay, mister ?”

  “Why, I don’t know. How far is it to town?”

  “It’s pretty darn far,” the kid said.

  “Jason! It is not.” The lady looked at Matt. “It is only a few more miles really.”

  “My feet tell me that’s a few miles I’d rather not walk. I’ll pay you anything within reason, ma’am, and be glad for your help.”

  “Then put your things in the back and get on. You can let the tailgate down and set on that if you like.” Which would keep him as far away from her and her boys as it was possible for him to get and still be riding. He took no offense. She did not know him from Adam’s off ox.

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Matt tugged his hat on and hurried to get his saddle, bedroll, and saddlebags.

  The springy boards at the back end of the little wagon would have made a splendid diving board for jumping into the swimming hole back home, but every time the rig hit a good bump Matt felt like he was going to be thrown off. He would have felt considerably better if he had something to wrap his legs around and dig his spurs into.

  The lady had been telling the truth about the distance, though. A small town—not Tucson but some outlying community—came into view within five miles or so. Matt swiveled halfway around so he could get a look at the place as they approached it.

  The town was not much for size, but it made up for that by being drab, dingy, and weatherworn. All in all, Matt felt, it would be a fine place to be from. Far from.

  Still, if there was a horse here that he could buy, he would be grateful. He wanted to get started after Sam Two-Wolves at first light on the morrow if that were possible.

  He spotted a large barn at the near edge of town that was probably a livery barn. If so, there was a good chance his transportation problem could be resolved before supper.

  He turned further around and said, “Ma’am, you could drop me—”

  Before Matt could finish the sentence, however, there was a flurry of hoofbeats and two riders came pounding out from behind the livery. The lady shrieked and the smaller of her two boys began to scream. The older child, who would scarcely have stood waist high on either rider even if the newcomers had been afoot, jumped to his feet and lifted his little fists like he was ready to do battle. With both of them at once.

  “Move aside,” the lady shouted once she got herself back under control. “Jason, you sit down. At once, do you hear me. And not a peep out of you either, Derek,” she snapped at the smaller child, which sent him into near hysterics. “Mr. Voss, Mr. Trudell, I will thank you to move out of my way. At once, if you please.”

  “What if we don’t please?” the larger of the two drawled with an insolent sneer. The man was probably in his middle thirties, heavily muscled, although with a telltale bulge above his belt that suggested soft living and easy work. The gun tied down on his left thigh hinted at the sort of work that might be.

  His partner was a few years younger and a little leaner, but looked to be in the better shape of the two. He too wore a revolver like he fancied himself a top hand with a gun. His holster was held down with a strap and buckle instead of a plain thong, and the leather on belt and pouch was tooled in an oak-leaf-and-acorn pattern. Matt suspected a fancy gun belt like that would set a man back a month’s wages or more.

  Both wore their hat brims tugged low. And neither offered the common courtesy of tipping those hats to the lady.

  “Mr. Dwight wants you to sign that paper he gave you, Delia,” the older man said. “He said I’m t’ bring it back with your mark on it or he’ll know the reason why.”

  “The reason there will be no signature,” the woman called Delia responded, “is because I am not selling. Not now, not ever, and not at any price he could come up with.” She set her lips in a thin line and nodded her head for emphasis, the movement abrupt and unequivocal. “Now I shall ask you again, Mr. Voss. Move aside. I have business in town.”

  “Goin’ to the bank, are you? They won’t loan you no more money. I can tell you that right now, Delia. You got no choice. You’re through here. With or without that signature, Mr. Dwight intends to have that miserable little place o’ yours, so’s you might as well take the money he’s offered. It’s either that or you’ll be put off with nothing in your pockets but lint.” Voss grinned, an expression that lacked any hint of mirth.

  “You leave my mama alone,” Jason shouted.

  “Shut your yap, kid, else I take you over this saddle an’ lay my quirt across your backside.”

  “Leave my sons alone,” Delia said. The words were brave enough, but there was a quaver in her voice now, and Matt could sense the rise of panic in her.

  Matt stood up in the back of the wagon. He was smiling, but there was no more friendliness in his expression than there had been in Voss’s.

  “Who are you?” Voss demanded.

  “Just a passing stranger,” Matt said, his voice and manner easy although his blue eyes had turned to ice.

  “Then keep on passing by, mister. You got no dog in this hunt, so don’t be foolish an’ get yourself all busted up for nothing.”

  “Or worse,” Trudell put in. “Push us and you could get yourself shot down dead.”

  “I never did have much sense,” Matt said cheerfully.

  “What’s that mean?”

  “It means that I decline your advice.”

  “Huh?”

  “I’m stepping in on the lady’s side of things. Now turn around like good little fellows and go tell your boss that Miz . . . ma’am, forgive me for being bold, but what may I say your name is?”

  “Borden,” she said. “Delia Borden.”

  “Thank you, ma’am. I’m—”

  “Your name is mud, that’s who you are,” Voss snarled, “and you are a dead man or soon fixing to be.”

  “Excuse me, ma’am, but would you mind driving over there out of the way, please.” Matt hopped down to the surer footing of the ground, leaving his gear in the back of the buckboard. He did not know how these horses might react to the sound of gunfire, and did not want to worry about keeping his footing in the back of a moving wagon while there was lead flying around.

  “Now, boys,” he said pleasantly. “Let’s us three discuss this situation.”

  4

  “You got one last chance, mister. This ain’t your fight. Turn and walk away now while you can.”

  Matt only shrugged.

  Voss nodded to his partner, and Trudell tossed his reins to the larger man and dismounted.

  “Last chance, mister,” Voss said. “This here is James Trudell. He’s the fastest gun there is, and if you don’t leave be, he will show you just how fast he can be.”

  “I appreciate the advice,” Matt said. “Now I will return the courtesy, and my advice to you would be to leave that lady alone. The both of you and your boss. Leave her be. Permanent.”

  “The only thing permanent,” Trudell said, “will be the marker we put over your grave. What name do you want carved on it?”

  “Bodine,” Matt said softly. “Matt Bodine.”

  Trudell blanched, his skin suddenly pale and sweaty. “I . . . I . . . uh. . . .”

  “If you aren’t going to draw, friend, suggest you unbuckle and drop ’em. Just to make sure there is no misunderstanding. I just hate mistakes, don’t you?”

  “Look, I, uh. . . .” Trudell bent over and began frantically digging at the thin strap that held his holster tight to his thigh. He managed to get it off, then undid the belt buckle and let the whole affair fall into the dirt. He held his hands wide from his body and backed two paces away.

  “Jimmy? What’s the matter with you?” Voss demanded, his voice sharp with anger. “Why�
�d you go an’ do a thing like that?”

  “You never heard of Bodine and Two-Wolves? Well, I have. I ain’t dumb enough to fool with them.”

  Matt gestured toward a well that stood in the shade of the livery. “Let’s all of us walk over there, shall we? Mr. Voss, you can come down off that horse, please. Or drag iron. I don’t much care which.”

  Voss looked confused.

  “Ben! Get down, will you?”

  Voss rather reluctantly stepped down from the saddle.

  “Give those horses to Mr. Trudell, please. Ah. Thank you. Now if you would be so kind, I’d like you to drop your gun belt too.”

  Voss looked at Trudell, who was still sweaty and gulping for breath. “Do it, Ben. Please.”

  The big man handed the reins of both horses to James Trudell, then unbuckled his gun belt and eased it to the ground.

  “Thank you, gentlemen.” Matt picked up both belts and carried them to the well. Without ceremony he tossed them in, James Trudell’s very expensive rig along with Ben Voss’s plain one. There was a perceptible delay before he heard a distant splash. “That seems to be one problem solved, doesn’t it,” he said.

  “Like hell it is,” Ben Voss roared. “You’re the next thing gonna go down that hole.”

  The big man balled his fists and lowered his head.

  He charged straight at Matt, blood in his eye and with his hackles raised.

  Matt stepped quickly to the side to avoid the rush, but Voss proved to be a better fighter than gunslinger. The big man was ready for Matt’s maneuver and adjusted for it, lashing out with a roundhouse left that caught Matt on the point of his right shoulder, numbing that arm and making him wince with the sudden pain.

  Voss whirled and came in again. Matt danced lightly to his right. His left fist shot forward, impacting high on the side of Voss’s jaw. Voss stopped and pawed at his face, shaking his head as if to clear it. Matt stepped in and hit him with the left again, high, and then—stepping forward so the two men were nose to nose—whipping a hard uppercut that snapped Voss’s head back and glazed the big man’s eyes.