by Neil Hunter
When they had rested for a while they moved out, leading the horses for a half hour before taking to the saddles again.
‘Still damned hot,’ Dancer grumbled.
‘Gets chilled at night sometimes,’ Cagle said. ‘Desert never seems to settle one way or the other.’
‘We do for Bodie,’ Benedict said, ‘he won’t need to worry about that.’
‘He’ll be burning in hell,’ Dancer said. ‘Make sure of that.’
Chapter Eleven
Mid-afternoon and Bodie figured he had no more sweat to give. He was parched dry from head to foot. The overwhelming heat struck him like hammer blows and his body ached all over. His head pulsed with a monotonous regularity. He had turned up the collar of his shirt to protect the back of his neck but there was little else he could do to protect himself from the sun. He was out in the open, with nothing to offer shade and until he reached Pinto Wells there was no relief.
Bodie simply kept moving. He was single-minded once he set a course. In this instance he had little choice to do otherwise.
Three hostile guns at his back.
The unforgiving desert spread around him.
Pinto Wells ahead promising him the only salvation he was about to be offered.
He narrowed his eyes against the sun’s reflected glare. The pale sand threw the light back in his face and generated enough heat to be felt through the soles of his boots.
As hard as his situation was Bodie refused to let it get to him. There was no point. He was here. Had no way of escaping the moment, so he kept moving, letting his mind conjure up what it was going to be like when he reached the tinajas. That was something positive.
The smooth rock formations. The deep pans holding the cool, clear water that bubbled up through the fractured strata. Somewhere in the depths of his heat-frazzled mind he remembered the words that explained the phenomenon that allowed Pinto Wells to exist. Artesian well. That was it. Water beneath the ground being pushed to the surface through natural pressure. Bodie tried to recall where he had heard the phrase but it evaded him. His dry lips formed a thin smile. Hell of a time to start remembering something like that, he decided. Not that it was going to help much. The only thing that really mattered was actually reaching Pinto Wells so he could dunk his head in the water. Drink his fill. Wash away the gritty sand that was creeping into every part of him.
The only way to make that happen was to keep walking. One slow step at a time. He felt the thin stir of the desert wind. It lifted grains of sand that peppered his legs. Bodie lifted his head and studied the big sky, wondering if there was going to be another blow. The breeze remained slight. Just a faint disturbance that touched the surface of the desert. It didn’t become any stronger. Nearby he heard the soft rustle of dried grass making sound as the wind disturbed it. A flicker of movement caught his eye and he spotted the rapid slide of a lizard as it skittered its way across the sand. Despite its barren appearance there was life around him. Lizards. Snakes. Always something.
And right now the most dangerous form of life was crossing the desert.
Man.
The species that killed without thought. Killed because of anger. Greed. Or simply because it could.
Bodie’s mind conjured up the image of his three pursuers.
Violent, vengeful men who were determined to make him pay for what he had done to them. In their minds Bodie was fair game. His actions had stripped them of their freedom. Condemned them to three years behind the bars of Yuma. The fact they had robbed and murdered to feed their greed made no difference in their eyes. Caught, sentenced for their crimes and imprisoned. Cagle, Benedict and Dancer had sweated out close on three years. With nothing to do but let their hate fester. To build until it became the one thing that kept them alive. Existing on the bile that gathered in their throats. The bitter anger that grew and became the single thing that kept them sane.
And now they were free they had decided to collect. To reach out with that savage need for pure, undiminished retribution.
For the man who had taken their freedom and had them locked away. It was driving them now. The force that had brought them to the desert wasteland in their search for Bodie.
~*~
‘Son of a bitch,’ Dancer yelled. ‘I see him. Bodie. Out there.’
He yanked his Henry from its scabbard. Favoring his left arm he jacked a shell into the breech.
‘Now,’ he said. ‘Now’s the time. Before he gets to cover at the wells.’
‘Ease off, Billy,’ Cagle said. ‘We’ve got him. Don’t push it.’
Dancer’s thin face was suffused with anger, his eyes wild with impatience’
‘The hell with waiting,’ he said. ‘I want that mother. I want him now while he’s in the open with nowhere to hide.’
‘Billy, I said no.’
Dancer swung his rifle in Cagle’s direction.
‘You leave me be. Don’t tell me what to do. You ain’t my goddam father. He used to tell me what to do. He was a bully. Until the day I shot him down. Now stay off my back…’
Dancer stabbed his heels into his horse’s side. It lunged forward, Dancer gripping its flanks with his thighs as he sped away from his partners.
‘Billy…’
Benedict caught hold of Cagle’s arm.
‘Leave him be, Vince. That idiot boy is bound and determined to get himself killed. Ain’t no use trying to stop him.’
‘Bodie’s liable to shoot him out the saddle.’
‘And you and I can’t do a damn thing to stop it.’
~*~
Bodie had halted on a slight rise, scanning the way ahead through red-rimmed and aching eyes. He used an arm to shield his gaze as he focused in on a shadowy outline on the near horizon, blinking to clear his vision. Through the shimmer of heat haze he traced the image. It lay to his right. Hard to determine just how far it was. The distorted imagery could fool a man into believing something was closer than it actually was and played tricks on him. He crouched and took his time as he studied the image.
Pinto Wells?
Or some imaginary object that might have been created by his fevered brain?
Bodie realized the only was he was going to find out was by heading straight for it.
Sitting here ain’t going to bring it any closer, he said to himself. A croaky chuckle followed. Talking to yourself now.
He pushed to his feet, trying to ignore the stiffness invading his limbs, and walked on. Let himself conjure up an image of a deep, cool pool of water. That was what he was going to find when he reached Pinto Wells. Right now nothing else mattered to him. Not the desert. Not the three men trailing him. All that he wanted was to reach that water. Hear it splash as he scooped it up in his hands and sluiced it into his face. It became the image swimming before his eyes.
Precious water.
Cold and fresh and…
….he barely noticed the spurt of sand feet away as a bullet hit the ground.
But he did register the flat sound of the gunshot.
Bodie jerked into action, his right hand dropping to close around the butt of the heavy Colt. As he yanked it clear he turned and saw a horse and rider heading in his direction, the rifle held awkwardly because his left arm was stiff. The shooter jacked another round into the breech.
Bodie caught a glimpse of a wild face. Thin and bony. His hat had blown off, exposing the stringy hair streaming back. He didn’t need a second look.
It was Billy Dancer.
He was screaming something as he spurred his horse on, directly at Bodie, the words lost as he fired a second time.
Sand slapped against Bodie’s leg as the slug landed closer.
He closed his hand and palmed the Colt, using both hands as he brought it into play, ignoring the threat from Dancer’s rifle.
The distance closed fast. A trail of dusty sand flew up from beneath the pounding hooves of Dancer’s horse. Bodie held his position. Waited. Letting Dancer move well in range.
‘…of a bitch,’ were Billy
Dancer’s last words.
He angled his rifle in Bodie’s direction, slow because of his wounded arm
The big Colt slammed out its sound. Dancer’s body jerked as the .45 slug took him in the left shoulder, close to where Bodie had shot him earlier. Dancer dropped his rifle, snatched at his holstered handgun, still yelling, and Bodie realized he wasn’t about to give up.
Bodie saw the horse growing larger in his sight.
It was getting too close.
He pulled back on the trigger. Felt the revolver slap against his palm. His shot punched into Dancer. Bodie held the trigger back and emptied the Colt into him, working the hammer with his left hand. The slugs slammed into Dancer in one continuous roll of sound. Bloody flecks burst from Dancer’s body. Two of the slugs exited through his spine, severing his ability to stay upright. Bodie pulled himself to the side as the spooked horse thundered by. Dancer toppled from the saddle and hit the ground in a loose sprawl.
Dancer’s horse kept running, taking itself away from Bodie. He saw it go but made no attempt to chase after it. He had already spotted the distant shapes of Dancer’s partners. They were still a ways off, holding back now while they waited to see what he was going to do. They were nowhere as impulsive as Dancer had been. Cagle and Benedict had a healthy respect for someone like Bodie. Seeing him take down Dancer would have cautioned them against making a foolish move – like the one that had got Dancer killed.
Bodie picked up the rifle Dancer had dropped. He checked the .44 caliber Henry repeater. It looked fine. Until he had the opportunity to check out the shots left he was going to have to hope Dancer had fully loaded it before he made his abortive charge. If it had a full magazine when Dancer rode after him, Bodie could have at least a dozen shots available. If it had been fully loaded.
If.
A small word that could make a hell of a difference.
Bodie spotted Dancer’s handgun. It lay close to the bloody corpse. A .45 Colt’s Peacemaker. It had all six chambers full. He tucked the revolver under his belt.
‘Thanks for the loans, Billy,’ he said. ‘I’ll make good use of them.’
He took a final look at Cagle and Benedict. They were still there. Well out of rifle range. Just watching. Unlike Dancer they were prepared to wait. Staying back while they dogged Bodie’s trail. Right now they had the advantage.
They had horses.
They would have water.
And they had time to wait him out.
Chapter Twelve
Silverbuck was riding in directly behind the men following Bodie. He kept his distance, using the contours of the land to conceal his presence. It wasn’t difficult. The two whites were so intent on keeping Bodie in their sights they never once checked their back trail. Silverbuck was able to stop on a number of occasions an observe the scene ahead of him using his binoculars.
He saw the younger man break away from the older men and ride his horse wildly across the sand. Following his reckless charge, the equally reckless rifle fire, Silverbuck witnessed the brief challenge the young man threw down. There was an inevitability in the action as Bodie stood his ground and shot the man out of his saddle, took his weapons and moved on. The man hunter was still heading towards Pinto Wells.
The other men remained beyond rifle range, watching Bodie, and Silverbuck could imagine their thinking. They had seen how easily Bodie had dealt with the younger man and they were taking their time. The breed gave them credit for that. Even in their desire to reach Bodie and kill him, they were smart enough to understand the skill of their quarry. Not for them a swift, unthinking attack. They would watch and wait, picking their moment.
And Bodie would be doing the same. Letting them follow him. Allowing then to believe they could handle him in their own time.
Silverbuck smiled to himself, unconsciously rubbing at the rough scar on his neck.
I’m still here, Bodie. Getting closer you son of a bitch. Your time is coming.
~*~
‘All the time we were in Yuma I had to listen to him moan and whine about how he was going to put Bodie down,’ Benedict said. ‘He was mistaken about most things. Seems he was wrong about that.’
‘Tobe, you’re all heart.’
Benedict leaned his hands on the saddle horn, focusing on Bodie’s distant figure. He watched the man hunter collect Dancer’s discarded weapons, then turn around and move off.
‘Now we go chasin’ him too close he’ll pick us off with that Henry of Billy’s like swattin’ flies around a jam pot.’
‘No arguing’ that point. Appears we just stay out of range and allow for him to reach Pinto Wells. Then what?’
‘Then we flank him. Come at him from two directions. Catch him in a crossfire. Even Bodie can’t shoot at two targets at the same time.’
Cagle thought about that. ‘It’ll be dark in a couple hours. What if he slips away then?’
‘Light or dark, Vince, he’s still one man on foot. We’re on horseback. Whichever way he’d go if he quits the wells we can ride him down if need be.’
‘Let’s hope you got this all worked out.’
‘Christ, Vince, you’re letting this get to you. I’ll give you some news to cheer you up. When Bodie dealt with Elkins we were down to a three way split.’
‘So?’
‘With Billy out of the count it’s a two way split now. Just you and me, partner.’
‘Well, hell, I guess somebody had to point that out.’
‘Crazy kid. Just couldn’t bide his time.’
‘That’s the trouble with younkers. No sense of discipline.’
‘Ain’t that the livin’ truth.’
They eased their horses into movement. Well behind the slow moving figure of Bodie.
~*~
He reloaded his own Colt as he walked, then slid it back into the holster. Checking the Henry Bodie took a look at the under-barrel follower. It was about a third of the way down the tube. He guessed he had at least ten .44-40 shots left out of the full magazine capacity. While he had the open magazine tube in his sights Bodie checked it for any sand that might have worked its way into the gap; the Henry was an excellent piece of weaponry, made with precision and workmanship, but the design of the magazine left it prone to becoming fouled up – the same applied to the open top frame; Bodie satisfied himself the weapon was clear. The last thing he needed was for the rifle to jam at a crucial moment.
Bodie had seen men die because their poorly maintained weapon jammed up on them during a gunfight. He never intended that to happen to him. He kept his own arsenal clean and in good working order. One of the drawbacks of using another man’s guns was depending that he had been as keen on keeping them efficient as Bodie had become.
Even though the afternoon was drawing down, the temperature did not. Out on the open landscape of the desert there was nothing to ease the heat. It burned its way across the rolling expanse, sparing no one. There was no relief. No shade. Just the glare of the harsh light bouncing off the parched land.
Bodie had little concept of how long he’d been walking. It was simply a case of one foot before the other. Sloughing through the sand that drew his boots in and made each step an effort.
When he finally paused to check his progress he saw the dark outline of the rocks that made up Pinto Wells no more than a quarter mile ahead. He took a long look, mainly to convince himself he was really seeing the place. That it wasn’t his eyes playing tricks on him. That he was not seeing a heat-created mirage. The thought he might be close brought a moment of elation. Then he turned and saw that the pair of riders behind him had increased their pace. They must have realized how near he was to the wells and were closing the distance.
Bodie worked his dry lips, trying to draw a little moisture from his mouth, but there was nothing to draw. He moved now, increasing his own pace. Dragging his heavy steps through the clinging sand. Fighting off the fatigue threatening to slow his efforts. The effort cost him. His dehydrating body was resisting his efforts.
He stumbled, going down on one knee.
Anger rose. He twisted around and brought the rifle to his shoulder, tracking the approaching riders, even though he was aware they had to be still beyond range. He fired off a pair of shots, the slam of sound from the Henry loud in the desert stillness. He didn’t wait to see if the shots made any difference. Bodie pushed to his feet and kept moving. A single thought crossed his mind.
At least the damn rifle worked.
Chapter Thirteen
Bodie was as close to running as his weary, heat-soaked body would allow when he hit the outlying dark rocks that marked the beginning of Pinto Wells. He barely registered the sound as his boots touched the smooth curve of the eons old formation. All he registered was the fact he had actually made it and the promise of water had become a reality. That was if the damned place hadn’t dried up before he got there. He dismissed the errant thought. It was just his mind playing tricks on him.
He moved up the rising slope of rock, stepping to the higher level of the wells, searching, seeking the one thing he needed right then more than anything else.
As he stumbled his way across the rock surface he saw the gleam of water in front of him. The placid, inviting shine of the pools. He knew there were at least four of them. All fed by the precious water that pushed its way from deep underground and forced its way out through the fissures. The water tumbled from the highest point, bubbling lazily down over the smooth-worn stone to fill the main pan, which in turn spilled into the smaller hollows.
Bodie dropped to his knees by the closest pool. He scooped up water and splashed it on his dry face. The chill of the water against his heated flesh was a shock. He felt it against his rough lips. Swallowed some and it was the best tasting water he had ever felt. The urge was there to drink until he was sated, but he held back. Too much was as dangerous as none at all. If he overfilled his stomach he could easily end up with cramps. He leaned over and took a couple of mouthfuls, allowing the water to trickle down his parched throat. Then he dunked his head under the surface, coming back up and shaking his head, water spraying wildly, scrubbing his free hand through his hair to loosen the dusty sand that had settled there.
