Zeb Ragnall straightened, his eyes cold, his features taut. Angela dropped the coffee pot and stepped away from him, her face filled with horror. He shouted:
“You in there! If you ain’t dead, come on out!”
There was no answer. Ragnall glanced at Angela and saw the terror in her eyes. He grinned.
“Tried to creep up on us, Angie, girl.”
Then he moved forward, the gun ready at his waist.
When he reached the brush, he parted it with one boot, then he reached down, pulled a body clear and pitched it near the fire. Angela lifted a hand to her mouth to stifle a scream.
Ragnall turned the body over with his boot, then he walked to the second. Looking up, he said, “Madie boys.”
Angela couldn’t take her eyes from the dead men. She remembered them as two of the three who had threatened her in Glory Creek. A shudder went through her.
Ragnall stepped over the bodies and approached her. Angela backed away, shaking her head wildly. Ragnall came on, holstering his gun and still grinning.
“No!” Angela called out, then she turned and broke into a run.
She was near the buckboard when Ragnall caught up with her. He grabbed her by the arm and flung her into the side of the buckboard. Angela’s fear of him consumed her now.
“No, please!” she screamed.
He laughed. “Ma’am, I think it’s time you learned a few things. To start with, you’ve got to know who runs this outfit.”
Angela slapped his face. Ragnall grabbed her wrist, drove her hard back against the buckboard and back-handed her to the face. Angela let out a cry of fear and he hit her again.
“You’re a murderer!” she screamed. “You gave them no chance. You didn’t know what they wanted. You didn’t wait!”
“What they wanted was my gold, ma’am,” Ragnall said and when Angela kicked at his shins he slapped her four more times.
Angela’s vision clouded. “You’re nothing but a swine!” she whimpered.
Ragnall grimaced and tore her blouse away. Angela butted at him, then tried to sink her teeth into his face. Completely enraged now, and tasting blood in his mouth, Ragnall drew back his hand and slammed it hard against her jaw. Angela sagged at the knees and he swung her away. She hit the ground and rolled, her skirt flying up over her head. Ragnall wiped his bloody mouth on his sleeve. The glow from the fire played on Angela’s naked thighs and full, firm breasts.
He stood there for a long time, looking down at her, pleased with what he saw. Then he returned to the fire and refilled the coffee pot. Waiting for it to come to the boil, he crossed to where Luke and Mark Madie lay dead.
A bitter curse came from him, then he followed their tracks back to where their horses were tied. He ran his hand over them; they were still warm. So they had come at a dead run. Ragnall climbed the slope and peered into the darkness. Silence and emptiness met his gaze.
He refilled his gun and went back to the fire where he poured himself a mug of coffee and studied Angela again before he kicked dust over the ashes. Then coffee mug in hand, he stood against the buckboard and stared thoughtfully into the distance.
Seven – “Vengeance Is Mine ...”
Isaac Madie awoke with, a start and glared furiously about him. It was too quiet, he thought. John was huddled in a ball, and the trussed Blake Durant was watching him sourly.
Isaac stretched his arms above his head. The night’s rest had completely restored his energy and strength. He felt he could take on a legion of devils single-handed.
Moving across to John, he drove his boot into the boy’s bony ribs. John jumped to his feet, waving his hands wildly before he came completely awake. Isaac snorted at John’s antics, “Get your brothers back here. Horses should be rested enough. We’ll push on, eat on the way.”
John dug sleep out of his eyes and wiped his still running nose on his sleeve. Then he broke into a stumbling run up the rise and opened his mouth to call to his brothers. He came to an abrupt halt when he found the clearing empty and Mark and Luke’s horses gone. After looking anxiously around, John finally ran back to his father.
“Pa ... they’re gone—they’re gone! Mark and Luke ... they ain’t where they was.”
A curse rumbled from Isaac Madie. He thundered up the slope to look for himself, John trailing.
“Musta gone off for a ride,” John said.
Isaac whirled around. “Damned idiot!” He pitched John down the slope, then he inspected the ground to read the signs. Rising he shook a ham of a fist in the air.
“Seed of the devil! Damnable scurvy scum!”
John stood off, brushing the dust from his tattered levis. He had one foot planted on his battered range hat and his long hair was dust-choked and untidy about his narrow shoulders. He studied his father anxiously, waiting for the next outburst.
But Isaac quickly gained control of himself and strode to where Blake Durant was roped to the trunk of a tree. He cut him loose, walked to his horse and hurled the saddle on its back. Then, hearing Durant move across the hard ground behind him he said:
“My two boys are bewitched by the devil’s gold. By all that’s good in me, I’ll catch up with them and do what I must!”
Blake worked the cramp from his limbs and saddled Sundown. He wanted to step up to Madie and hammer at the man’s granite-like jaw. But, gunless, he was in no mind to pit himself against the hot-tempered lunatic.
As John labored to get a saddle over his bony range poke, Blake said, “Do I get my gun, Madie?”
“Nope, mister, you do not.” Isaac produced his Bible and brandished it at Durant. “That’s the only weapon any of us need. You’ll see—I’ll make those scum crawl on their bellies beggin’ for mercy. I’ll make them cringe and pray for forgiveness till their knees wear away. I’ll thrash the evil out of them if it kills me and them!”
“Which won’t take care of Ringo Nyall,” Blake said. “The way I see it, John there is worse than useless in a scrape. That leaves you—one man against two double-crossing sons out to beat you to the gold, plus a notorious gunfighter who’ll blast you from the saddle as quick as a blink.”
Isaac studied Blake for a long time, grunted in decision. “When the time comes, I’ll return your gun, Durant. Until then, shut down. Nobody else is going to take the devil’s side against me. Nobody.”
John had finally cinched the saddle and was sitting his horse. He wiped at his nose and worked across to his father’s side. Smiling uncertainly at the big man, he muttered, “I didn’t ride off, Pa, did I? I stayed with you.”
Isaac scowled at him. “Get ahead. You see anybody, give us warning.”
“Sure, Pa, sure.” John hit the poke into an awkward run and Blake drew alongside the big Bible-puncher.
“Madie, ever since I’ve known you I’ve had the feeling that most of what you say is gibberish. Now I’m positive of it.”
Isaac eyed him angrily. “Ain’t nobody asked for your opinion.”
“Nevertheless you’re getting it. All your damned preaching is a front for what you really are, a cover for what you’re really after. Gold, Madie. Gold!”
“Damn lie, Durant! I got no love for gold—but I know what good I can do with it. I can build me a church and rake in the sinners and teach them the right way of life. And I can get my boys to serve with me. I’ll spread the gospel to the four corners of this territory and the wrath of the Lord will strike down the fools who try to stop me. Which includes you, Durant.”
“You won’t get away with it, Madie.”
Isaac’s eyes almost disappeared under the flabby flesh of his cheekbones. “Who’ll stop me, mister?”
“I will.”
Isaac glowered for a moment, then he sat tall and roared with laughter. His whole body shook and the tears rolled from his eyes.
“You, mister? You, a damned back-handin’ drifter, with lies thick in your head and a taste for nothin’ but the comforts of life? You, Durant, are gonna stop me?”
Blake turned his
horse up the slope, saying, “It gets harder and hotter from here on, Madie. I’d keep a rein on my energy if I were you.”
With that, Blake rode on. As he topped a rise he saw John Madie ahead, a forlorn, derelict figure. Blake put Sundown into an easy gait, meaning to nurse him now because he was positive that just ahead there was the kind of trouble only a quick gun and a fast horse might get him out of.
Zeb Ragnall pulled Angela Grant from the ground where she had huddled in fear of him during the night. In dawn’s first gray light she could see the set of Ragnall’s face. She remembered how he had so effectively killed the rattler and then had cut down the Madie brothers. He was no miner; he was a man who lived by the gun. And she was sure he’d killed before, perhaps often.
Ragnall pushed her towards the buckboard. She tidied her skirt and tried to hold her torn blouse across her bosom. Ragnall stood back and watched her, grinning thinly. When he came forward to help her into the buckboard she stepped away from him.
“Don’t touch me.”
Ragnall’s smile went crooked. His look went to her bosom and Angela felt the heat rise in her face. Suddenly all the trouble of the night before came rushing back into her mind.
She gasped, “You—you didn’t! You couldn’t have!”
Ragnall chuckled. “No, ma’am. Ain’t my way to take a woman who don’t know what’s happenin’ to her. But I’ll have you, Angie, girl, when I’m good and ready. And it won’t be a case of takin’ you, either. There’ll be some givin’ comin’ from you.”
Angela’s upper lip peeled back. “I’ll kill myself first!”
“Suit yourself, ma’am. But for now, get into that seat and start drivin’. We had two visitors last night and I reckon we might have some more today. Only we ain’t goin’ to be sittin’ about waitin’ for ’em.”
Angela saw his face go tight and fear churned at her again. She stepped up to the buckboard seat. The horses were already harnessed. She took up the reins and glanced back at the buckboard bed where burlap covered the gold bullion.
Ragnall rose into the saddle and pointed ahead. “You got a weight in back, Angela, so take care where you drive. You mess it up, woman, and by hell you’ll find out something about me that will take the curl outa your hair. Get along now and don’t give me any trouble.”
Angela flicked the reins and the horses lunged into their collars. The buckboard flooring creaked as the wheels began to roll. Angela worked the horses off the small clearing and headed them for the rolling plains. As far as she could see, the country was flat and barren, hardly any different from the desert stretch they had come through the day before.
But the wind was cool and as yet there was no heat in the day.
For three hours they headed due south, with the black hills in the distance not seeming to get any closer. Then Ragnall directed her to veer to the right.
“Easier going there, but watch out for rocks. This buckboard you bought with my money ain’t exactly the best I’ve ever seen.”
Angela ignored his complaint. He led the way for awhile and stopped to direct her between two huge boulders. When she went ahead of him, he rode onto a rise and peered back into the heat-hazed distance. There was no sign of pursuit. Angela slowed the buckboard horses as the terrain became rougher, but she almost fell from her perch when the right side wheel smashed into a rock, bounced high and came down with a thud. The load in the back of the buckboard shifted and pounded down heavily. There was a sharp crack and Ragnall came riding up, his face flushed with anger.
“Damn you, I said to watch it!”
“I can’t see everything. If you’re so worried, why don’t you drive?”
Ragnall waved her to proceed. When the buckboard was running again, he rode at its side, staring anxiously at the front wheel on his side. A curse came from him. He hit his mount into a run and grabbed at the reins and pulled the horses to a stop. Then he wheeled on Angela.
“Damn you, get down! You lost a collar pin. Wheel’s wobblin’.”
Angela looked calmly at him. “Too bad.”
Ragnall’s face went white. He reached out and pulled her from the seat. As her feet hit the ground, he swung out of the saddle and shoved her roughly towards the horses. “Hold them steady.”
He went down on his knees and inspected the wheel closely. Rising finally, he looked back along their trail. The wheels had dug deep into the softer ground. He drew his gun and went back to the rock the wheel had hit. Looking about, he muttered obscenities until he found the steel pin. He picked it up, dusted it off and walked back. Giving Angela Grant a venomous look, he inserted the pin into the wheel collar and hammered it home with his gun butt. Having done that he grabbed the wheel and shook it roughly. The wheel wobbled. He swore.
Wiping sweat off his brow and glancing back to the trail over which they had come, he said, “Might hold. Now get back up and keep goin’, but slow. If you hit anythin’ else and bust that wheel again, by hell you’ll regret the day you ever read a letter of mine.”
“I already regret it,” Angela snapped at him. “I’ve never regretted anything more in my whole life.”
Ragnall bared his teeth. “Ma’am, you ain’t even started to feel sorrow, I’m tellin’ you that for sure.”
Angela glared at him and walked to the other side of the buckboard. Climbing back into the seat, she picked up the rein. When the buckboard started to move again, Ragnall took his position beside the wobbling wheel. His lips were tight and his eyes were filled with viciousness as he watched the wheel wobbling badly.
“Slower, damn you, real slow! We got only ten miles to go and we can make it only if you’re damned careful.”
Angela slowed the horses. She was thinking of the two men who had tried to surprise Ragnall the previous night. Back in town they had always been in the company of their brother. So perhaps he was close by, or somebody else might be trailing them. She pushed back her hair to let the morning wind touch at her neck. If she hadn’t been with Zeb Ragnall, she might have found this warm day very much to her liking. But she was with him, and saw no likelihood of escaping him. Even if someone were trailing, there was the danger of Ragnall’s quick, accurate gun.
“Lookee there, Pa!”
John Madie drew rein and pointed at the wheel tracks and hoof prints in the soft ground. Isaac moved alongside him, his eyes slitted in concentration. Blake Durant, still waiting for an opportunity to jump the big man, came up with him. Isaac turned to Blake.
“Got it, looks like.”
“No doubt,” Blake said. “Those wheels are digging deeper. Now you know who has what and where they’re headed. What about my gun?”
“Later, mister, when I’m good and ready.” Isaac lifted a hand to shield his eyes and peered into the heat-choked distance. There was no sign of dust. Nothing moved. “Still time.” He turned to John. “Boy, get up on that rise and try to see somethin’. Hurry now.”
John rode off furiously, glad to serve his father. He had discovered that Isaac Madie treated him a whole lot better when Mark and Luke weren’t about. Topping the rise, John shaded his eyes and squinted. But he couldn’t see anything but the shimmering heat haze. He squinted harder and sat there, as rigid as a pole until his father’s angry bellow reached up to him:
“Damn you, boy, don’t go to sleep up there! Is there anythin’ or not?”
“Nope, Pa. Can’t see nothin’!”
“Then get on down!”
John rode back sheepishly, confused at his father’s returning anger. He didn’t know what he had done wrong this time. He worked closer to Blake Durant and studied his tanned face. Durant was a quiet man, the kind John liked.
Isaac said, “Well, anyway, we can trail them real easy now. What with that buckboard loaded down and the wheels cuttin’ deep, they ain’t gonna move at no great pace. How far ahead do you reckon them to be, Durant?”
Blake checked the tracks again. “Maybe two hours.”
Isaac beamed. “That all, eh? Hell, we’ll be up
on them come noon.”
“Maybe,” Blake said. He was watching other tracks winding off the trail towards a small clearing just ahead. He let Sundown pick his way along while Isaac Madie stopped dead when he reached the rim of brush around the clearing. The two bodies lying under the wash of the sun were covered with a light gray dust, proof that they had been in that position for many hours.
Blake was coming out of the saddle when Isaac Madie rode up. The old man’s gaping mouth closed with a snap when he saw the dead men. He jumped from the saddle and let his horse run. Down on his knees, he lifted Mark’s head. All color drained from his face. He shook his son’s head, desperately seeking a spark of life. But Mark’s lifeless eyes stared at nothing.
Isaac lowered his son’s head gently, then he reached out to turn Luke’s face from the dust. A deep groan came from him. John had ridden up and now he watched his father with growing concern.
“Pa?”
“They’re dead, boy, shot down by an agent of the devil!”
John shook his head in disbelief. Blake Durant looked on, taking note of the sincere grief of the old man. For the first time he felt sympathy for him. John jumped from his horse and stood beside his father, who kept looking up at the sky as tears coursed down his cheeks.
Blake Durant swung out of the saddle, hitched Sundown, and walked back into the brush. He picked up a Winchester and checked it. The rifle had not been fired. Walking along the tracks left by a man on foot, he came to where Mark had met his death. Blake saw the burned brush, the trampled section, a strip of shirt caught on a branch. From the signs on the ground he worked out that whoever had killed them had dragged both from the brush into the clearing.
Isaac was looking down now, his chest heaving, his face white. John stood beside him, peering stupidly into his face.
“Pa?”
“Be quiet, boy!” Isaac said, and his voice was almost gentle.
Blake Durant searched around for soft ground and began to dig with his saddle spade. Sweat ran down his body but he was glad to have something to do to keep him away from the broken hulk of the old man, Isaac Madie.
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