Blood Bond 7

by William W. Johnstone

  “It’s only the truth. Too bad you have such an ugly escort this pretty afternoon . . .”

  The final insult was more than Strep could take. He stopped the horse, put on the brake, and leaped at Matt. Strep was a big man, and even though Matt had expected the move, he could no longer hold onto the vehicle. Both men landed on the hard ground, Strep on top. The breath was almost knocked out of Matt, which was made worse when Strep punched him twice in the gut as he lay on the ground.

  Matt did not stay on the ground for long, however. With strong arms, he reached up and pushed against Strep’s chest. Though Strep resisted, he still went flying backwards into the dirt.

  Matt rolled and got his knees under him. Strep quickly regained his feet and jumped at the other man. Matt put his hands together and struck upwards with both fists, hitting Strep in the mouth as he landed. Though the blow landed hard, its only effect was to produce a small trickle of blood from the corner of his mouth.

  Matt again fell backward with Strep on top, but this time he was better prepared. His blow to Strep’s mouth had lessened the impact. Matt grabbed the gunfighter by the throat and pivoted, throwing him to the ground. He kept his grip, trying to cut off the other man’s windpipe. Strep’s neck was broad and muscular and Matt could not get the grip he was looking for. Strep managed to bend his knees and get his booted feet under Matt’s stomach. He extended his legs, sending Matt over his head. The move was awkward, allowing Matt to land gently.

  Strep quickly jumped to his feet and tried some quick punches to Matt’s face, which were easily blocked.

  Similar blows by Matt found their mark more effectively. Matt worked on Strep’s face, forcing his mouth to become even more bloody. In minutes, an eye also began to swell shut.

  Under Matt’s barrage of blows, Strep began to step backwards toward the hotel. The men working on the porch had taken a break to watch the fight, leaving their tools temporarily abandoned. Strep stepped on a hammer, causing him to lose his balance.

  From his position on the ground, he reached out and grabbed a piece of splintered wood with one hand and the hammer in the other.

  “Going to do a little carpentry work?” Matt asked. “Hope you’re a better carpenter than you are a fighter.”

  Matt was a little winded himself, and was taunting Strep in the hope he would get even angrier and make a stupid mistake, which is what happened.

  Strep struck out repeatedly with the wood, each time missing his opponent. Matt ducked and weaved, carefully timing Strep’s swings. Before Strep would think of another line of attack, Matt rushed in under one of the swings, the rough wood barely creasing his broad shoulders. He managed to hit his shoulder solidly in Strep’s stomach and followed up with a flurry of blows to the stomach and head.

  Finally, the series of blows from Matt’s rock-hard fists had their intended result. Strep finally became glassy-eyed and the board started to slip out of his hand. Matt caught the board in mid-air, slammed it once against the side of Strep’s head, forcing him to the ground. He was not unconscious, though he remained perfectly still.

  Matt tossed the board into Strep’s lap.

  “I hate being interrupted when I’m talking to a lady,” Matt said.

  “Next time I’ll kill you,” Strep said.

  “You try it, and you’ll be pushing up daisies.” He turned to Malinda. “It’s a little early yet, but would you like to go out to dinner anyway?”

  “I’d be delighted!”

  Matt got up on the buckboard seat beside Malinda.

  “Let me change shirts and get our meal, and we’ll be on our way!”

  Chapter Nine

  Jordan’s men had ridden hard and fast over sometimes harsh terrain, almost killing three horses. It was worth the costs, however, since the men had made it to Junction City in record time. It was dark, but Phil Caphorn would be up late, as always, gambling in the Silver Lady Saloon that served as his informal office.

  A tall man named Slim and a shorter man named Webb had been chosen to relay the message and the gold to the gunfighter. Neither of Jordan’s men were particularly fast with a gun, but they were tough and they could be trusted. Fortunately for them, they had met no serious trouble along the way. Though they were dog-tired, the gold remained intact in the bag.

  Neither Slim nor Webb were very familiar with larger cities, having lived most of their lives in the parts of Colorado that remained remote from civilization. Sp the first thing that caught their eyes as they rode into Junction City was it sheer size. Compared t it, Jordanville was little more than a wide spot in the road.

  It took an hour for the two to find their way to the Silver Lady Saloon. They received their second surprise when they walked into the Silver Lady.

  Compared to Jordanville’s establishment—even the Jordan Hotel—this business was nothing less than sumptuous. The glassware was shining, the felt on the card tables was fresh and unmarked, the girls wore bright, new-looking outfits. And almost every customer was dressed in clean, expensive-looking clothes. It made Jordan’s men feel shabby and out of place. Still, they had a job to do.

  Finding Phil Caphorn was relatively easy. He was seated with his back to a wall playing cards with five other well-dressed men. He was wearing a dark suit and double-pearl-handled guns. The hair that stuck out from under a broad-brimmed, light colored hat was jet-black and combed back. He had a thick, black mustache.

  Jordan’s men approached Caphorn quietly, but with a firm stride. Webb held the bag of gold.

  For long minutes, Caphorn ignored the two as he played out his hand.

  “I see your $500, and raise you $700,” he said calmly, forcing all but one of the other players to drop out, even though there was already a large stack of chips in the middle of the table.

  Betting continued for a few more minutes.

  “My ace-high straight flush beats your four-of-a-kind,” he finally concluded, showing his hand.

  He nonchalantly pulled his winnings toward him. Only then he look up at Jordan’s men.

  “You must be Phil Caphorn?” Webb said.

  “The penny-ante games are down the street,” Caphorn said. “I you’re looking to hire me, you couldn’t afford my fee, even if I was interested in working. Which I’m not. I’m on vacation.

  The others at the table laughed nervously.

  “We’re not here to play a game,” Slim said. “We’re her to talk business with you. Not for us, but for our boss.”

  And who might your boss be?”

  “Nelson Jordan.”

  “Never heard of him.” Caphorn gestured and said, “Deal the new hand.”

  Webb stepped closer to Caphorn and opened the bag so that only he could see its contents. “We’re here to offer you cash money for your services,” he said.

  Caphorn looked into the bag, but his poker expression never changed.

  “Let me finish this hand, then we’ll talk,” he said.

  On that hand the gunfighter lost a little, though his gains still totalled far more than his losses for the night.

  “OK boys,” he told the other players. “That’s it for me tonight. Come back tomorrow for another game.”

  The other men grumbled, but knew better than to argue with a well-known killer. They left the table. Slim and Webb took two of the vacated seats.

  “So your boss knows my fee. I’d say you have more than enough in that bag to hire me. So what’s the game?”

  In few words, Jordan’s men outlined the problem that their boss faced and the solution he hoped that Caphorn could bring to the problem.

  “So it’s just a matter of facing down some hired gun? No challenge there. I really don’t need the money now. Why should I take the job?”

  “The man our boss wants you to face is named Mathew Bodine. You know him?”

  Caphorn looked thoughtful. “Now that’s a different situation,” he said. “Bodine is starting to make a name for himself. Killing him would be a ice feather in my cap, so to speak.”r />
  He waited, until Jordan’s boys caught on and laughed politely.

  “So, you’ll take the job?”

  “Hand over the gold, boys. Then you can ride home and tell your boss I’m on the job. I’ll be riding in within the next few days. Tell him to have the rest of the gold ready.”

  “Rest of the gold?”

  “My total fee for this job will be $25,000 even. Tell your boss that if he doesn’t like it, I’ll just keep riding. But this $10,000 is my retainer. Got it?”

  Jordan’s men nodded.

  “Good. Now get out of here and let me get back to business.”

  Jordan’s men didn’t have to be told twice.

  It took Matt less than five minutes to change shirts and pick up the picnic meal that Clancy had prepared for him and Malinda. The woman waited patiently in the buckboard and smiled when Matt returned. Matt picked up the reins and started down the road.

  “Matt? You don’t mind if I call you Matt?”

  “Please do.”

  “Why were you so rough on Strep?”

  “One reason is that I don’t particularly like him. A more important reason is that I didn’t much think he would leave us alone unless I proved to him it would be better for him to leave us alone. And it would be better for him to leave us alone. And it could have been worse for him?

  “How?”

  “He could have drawn on me.”

  “Strep’s pretty fast. But I saw your moves this morning. You’re right. If he had drawn on you, he’d be a dead man now. I’m glad you didn’t have to kill him.”

  “You sweet on him?”

  “That’s a mighty personal question.”

  “Found out a lone time ago the quickest way to find out something is to ask.”

  Malinda laughed. The buckboard was going slowly through the rutted streets toward the outskirts of town. Many of the workers and miners stopped to get a better look at Malinda. By now most of the town knew about Matt and her.

  “No, I’m not sweet on Strep. I don’t even particularly like him, though he wishes I did. I just hate to see anybody hurt.”

  “Seems to me then that your taste in man-friends is kind of strange.”

  “Jordan? He’s not my man-friend. Oh, you might say we’ve bee close in some ways. Closer than I would have wanted. But I owed him for giving me a chance to sing. When he said my opportunity would come out West, I never expected it to be in a place like this.” She swept her hands to take in the town.

  “But you like your life?”

  Malinda sighed. Matt thought the way her body and head moved when she sighed made her look very pretty.

  “I like singing. And parts of the West I like very much.” The buckboard had now left the town and was starting to pass through the surrounding countryside. “I like the mountains. I like the grass and trees in the valleys. I like the country surrounding the town, like we’re now passing through. I often have my bodyguard drive me out here, to help me relax and for inspiration.” She paused and looked at Matt through half-closed eyelids. “How did you know I like it out here?”

  “It was a gamble.”

  “I think you sometimes gamble an awful lot.”

  “It keeps life interesting. You said you don’t care for Nelson Jordan?”

  “I didn’t say that. I used to care for him a lot. At first, I even liked the sense of adventure, of exploring someplace new and exciting. But I don’t particularly care for the town. And I don’t particularly care about working for Nelson Jordan anymore. He’s too possessive. He acts like I’m just another of his business enterprises.”

  “Why don’t you go elsewhere? You’re good enough to in someplace civilized. Maybe Denver. Maybe even back East.”

  “I’m from the East. I’ve thought about going back, but to do so would mean leaving Jordan. And that’s something he would never let happen.” She put her hand on Matt’s. “Where are we going?”

  “There’s a nice little clearing up ahead where my brother and I made camp last night. I thought it’d be a nice place for a picnic.”

  Malinda settled back on her seat, watching the trees and occasional flash of river through the trees.

  “You’re direct. So I’ll be direct.”

  “Shoot.”

  “That man with you. Is he your brother?”

  “Blood-brother. We are bonded for life by the Cheyenne ritual. It makes us close as if we were raised by the same family.”

  “What’s in all this for you? I mean back in town. You’ve made enemies of Jordan. He thinks you’re on Hart’s side. What are you getting or hope to get out of this fight?”

  “Not a thing.”

  “I don’t think I heard your right.”

  “For some reasons I don’t want to get into, Sam and I feel very strongly about certain things. One of them is fairness. We got involved, initially because we wanted to even the adds a little. Now that we’re involved, we are going to see it through. We never start something we can’t finish.”

  “That’s interesting.”

  The buckboard had now reached the clearing. Matt hollered “Who!” to the horse, set the brake, and climbed down from the buckboard. He held out his hand and helped Malinda to the ground. Matt then cleared a grassy spot near the river, placed a blanket for a tablecloth, then set out the dinner.

  “It’s rather simple, hope you don’t mind,” Matt said.

  “And you brought wine! Don’t be silly. It’s wonderful! It’s more than any man has done for me in a long time.”

  “That’s hard to believe. Every man in this town adores you.”

  “That doesn’t mean they understand what it takes to make a woman happy.”

  Matt poured each of them a glass of the homemade wine.

  “Then let’s toast,” he said. “To your happiness!”

  “And to yours.”

  They clinked the glasses together and took a drink. To Matt’s surprise, the wine was smooth and tasty. He would have to compliment Clancy.

  “And what would make you happy?” Matt asked. “To go home again, back East?”

  Malinda sighed again. “My father didn’t like my idea of singing. He’d rather I got married and settle down. You know, have kids and stay home and all that. Guess it wouldn’t be so bad if I could find the right man.”

  “And for now?”

  “For now I intend to enjoy the moment. Would you please pour me another glass of wine?

  Jack Parrish was part of the crowd that watched Matt beat Strep in the fight. He had heard the two men promise to kill each other when they next met.

  It couldn’t be working out any better if he had tried! He had made sure that there was plenty of dislike between Matt and Jordan. That Matt was now after Jordan’s woman, one that Strep also hungered for, made if even better!

  Now it was a matter of waiting for his opportunity.

  After the fight, Strep continued to sit in the dirt for long minutes, waiting for his head to clear. He shook off any hands offering to help him up as he cursed under his breath. He finally stood, shook his head to finish clearing it, and dusted himself off.

  “I’ll be damned if he gets away with this.” Strep muttered the words, although several of those in town heard him clearly. “I’ll get him for this!”

  As the crowd started to disperse, Parrish heard a shouted voice behind him.

  Hey you! Hey Parrish, you low-life snake! Come and fight me like a man!”

  The gunfighter didn’t have to look to know it was the voice of Bill Shannahan, the man he had attacked the day before in the river, only to be saved by Sam Two Wolves. Parrish glanced behind him, saw that much of the crowd remained between him and the Irishman. Parrish wasn’t scared of the other man, but he didn’t want to be forced to deal with him at this time. So he slipped into the crowd, and then down an alley, to avoid a confrontation.

  Maybe later if Shannahan wanted to fight, Parrish would oblige him. For now, however, he had other fish to fry.

  Chapter Ten<
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  To some of the people in town, Matt may have come across as a little crazy to go after Jordan’s girlfriend. Sam, however, had known Matt all of their lives. They had grown up together, played together, fought together. Though they continually traded insulting banter, each knew how the other thought and respected each other’s ideas. Sam knew that Matt’s interest in Malinda was only partially the reason why he had walked into a fight with Strep. It was usually better to bring the battle to the other person than to let them bring it to you, which is what Matt was trying to do.

  Tensions had been bottled up for too long. Something had to blow soon. And when it did, there might no controlling the results.

  Yet something felt oddly wrong to Sam. It was only a vague feeling, one that most men would have simply shrugged off. But Sam had learned from experience to trust his instincts. He wasn’t sure where following his hunches would take him, but it had to be better than taking no action at all.

  It was nearing dusk. The streets were more crowded than earlier in the afternoon, but it was still a very small town and most of the activity was in or near the saloons. Sam wandered among the small crowds then slipped down a side street toward Jordan’s hotel. The workmen had finished their job and left, but it was the rear of the building that interested Sam.

  As he expected, the ground near the building was torn up too badly to leave any decent tracks. His trained eyes, however, noted the probable way that Matt’s attacker had taken to the roof and then escaped when Matt fell through the rotten spot in the wood into Malinda’s room. Again, on a hunch, Sam removed his boots, hid them carefully, then climbed onto the roof. He moved so quietly in his bare feet that nobody in the hotel would ever suspect he was above them.

  The workmen had also repaired the hole in the roof. It would be surprising if they left anything behind. Still, Sam examined every square inch of the roof, just in case. His efforts yielded no success. Disappointed, Sam moved quietly back to the edge of the roof, and examined the street below.

  How had Matt’s attacker gotten away so quickly? He probably had his horse tied somewhere close. It would have to be someplace at least partially hidden, yet easily gotten to. Sam’s eyes fixed on an area between two buildings a short distance from the hotel. It would be a matter of a few steps from the hotel roof to a horse waiting there.