by Neil Hunter
Elizabeth worked silently and efficiently. Once she had cleaned the wound she folded the towel into a pad and pressed it over the gash.
“Do you have anything I can use to bandage it?” she asked.
“In the pack over there,” he said. “I bought some medical supplies.”
Elizabeth located the bandage he’d purchased. She folded some into a fresh pad, then used a further length to wrap round his body and tie it in place.
“Grateful, ma’am.”
Only then did she seem to become aware of his close scrutiny. For a brief time she held his gaze. Then she lowered her eyes, cheeks coloring warmly as she reached up and pulled the wrapper together to cover her body.
“You should rest,” she said.
Brand glanced up from pulling a fresh shirt from his gear.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said.
Her eyes flashed briefly, as if she had taken offence at his tone. “Will I see you later? For supper?”
“I’ll knock.”
Brand crossed to the window after she had gone. The bodies had already been moved from the street and the crowd had dispersed. In a few hours the talk would have waned and the shooting would have become just another incident. He leaned against the sill. It was a pity it had happened. It drew attention to him, and that was not needed. Brand sighed. He had been left with little choice in the matter. He regretted it having taken place at the start of his assignment. Not the most illustrious way to begin his new career. He slammed his hand against the window frame in frustration. Turning from the window he stretched out on the bed and stared up at the ceiling.
His mind was too full even to allow him to doze off. He couldn’t get Elizabeth out of his thoughts. Or the way she had looked in that thin wrapper. Her supple body moving freely under the flimsy cotton. He sat up.
Damn her!
Why the hell did she have to be so attractive! He thought of the night ahead, and the fact that she would be sleeping in her room so close by. Restless and perspiring in the close heat. He cursed his over-active imagination.
It was going to be a long night.
Maybe he should go and have that drink. A whole damn bottle full of drinks.
Chapter Four
Brand didn’t get drunk. After an early supper with Elizabeth he turned in and slept surprisingly well. They were up at dawn, and after a quick breakfast they saddled up and were riding out of Gallego as light flooded the eastern sky.
With the settlement shrinking behind them they cut off to the north. Later they would turn east, starting the long climb into the foothills of the San Andres range. For the present they trailed north. The land lay vaulted and scarred around them. It was arid and inhospitable. Dry and broken it was a place of emptiness, the rocks and cactus only adding to the vast sense of desolation. Dry watercourses crisscrossed the land like so many empty veins. There were countless gullies and crumbling, razorback ridges. To the west, visible as they moved ever higher, was the muddy ribbon of water known as the Rio Grande, threading its way down into Texas and eventually the Gulf of Mexico.
They rode at a steady pace until noon. Brand found them a shaded place where they could rest. He made a small fire and put a pot of coffee on to boil. While it simmered he moved to a low ridge and took a long look around. The land appeared empty, but that meant very little. This was Apache country, and though there weren’t so many of them around any longer they still posed a threat.
In another year the legendary Apache leaders would offer their surrender, realizing that their tribes were close to extinction. For the present they continued to raid and kill. Brand knew the Apache well. He understood their ways. They were skilled and deadly fighters. They knew their land and they used every inch of the terrain to their advantage. It was said an Apache was not heard or seen until he decided it should be so, and by then it was too late to do anything about it. It was a notion closer to the truth than to fiction.
Lobo was foremost in Brand’s thoughts. This was his land too. From what he knew of the half-breed, Lobo ranged far and wide. There appeared to be no boundary to the territory he covered. He had struck as far down as the Mexican border, equally as distant to the north. So as well as the Apache themselves, Brand was going to need to keep on the alert for Lobo. It would be ironic, he considered, if they were attacked by Lobo himself. He looked back to where Elizabeth sat beside the fire. She could be hurt in more ways than one during this trip.
He walked back to the fire. Elizabeth glanced up at his approach. They hadn’t spoken much since leaving Gallego. Seeing him now she reached for tin mugs and lifted the pot off the fire.
“It smells good,” she said.
Brand squatted on his heels across from her. She was dressed in a dark riding skirt, white blouse, and a short, soft leather jacket cut in the Mexican style. She had tied up her hair so she could wear a low-crowned hat.
He took the coffee she passed him.
“You mind it without sugar?” he asked.
She smiled. “I can manage.”
They sat and drank, in silence. Brand felt Elizabeth’s eyes on him, watching, searching.
“Are you a married man, Mr. Brand?” she asked suddenly, her question direct.
It caught Brand off guard, dredging up half-forgotten memories.
“Had a wife once, ma’am. While back now. She’s dead,” he heard himself say. Leaning forward he picked up the pot and refilled his mug.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to pry. So — have you always been a guide?”
“No. I’ve scouted for the Army.
Wore a badge for a time. Hunted buffalo. Right now I’m a guide.” He saw no reason to go any further. She was satisfying her curiosity; give her enough information and she would leave the subject alone.
“How long before we reach our destination?”
He smiled behind his mug at the abrupt change of questioning. Turning his body he pointed to the high peaks rising stark and bare into the sky to the east.
“That’s where we’re heading. Should reach those peaks in a couple of days. That’s hard country up there. They call it the High Lonesome. Fits. We’ll start to climb soon. If the weather holds we’ll make good time. Then again we might run into the Apaches.” He watched her closely as he added: “Or Lobo.”
To her credit Elizabeth’s expression didn’t change. She held his gaze., swirling her coffee round in her mug.
“Oh., yes., I’ve heard about him. I believe that’s why no one would bring me up here. They do say he’s worse than the Apache. Everyone seems afraid of him. Are you?”
Brand tossed out the dregs in the bottom of his mug.
“I get scared. Man has a right to up here. On the other hand you can’t spend your life hiding from shadows.”
He stood up and crossed to check the horses, pulling in the cinches. Elizabeth cleared away the utensils and smothered the fire.
They rode on through the afternoon. With the sun beginning to slide below the western horizon Brand took off to the east, the horses starting to pick their way up the first slopes of the San Andres. They kept moving until darkness forced them to stop. Brand found them a good place to make camp. There was a small group of rock pans holding water. Tinajas, the Mexicans called them. Brand fixed a small cook fire, then moved to unsaddle and settle the horses while Elizabeth took over cooking a meal. By the time he returned from feeding and watering the animals, tethering them close to one of the pans she had salt bacon and beans in the pan. The smell of frying meat made Brand realize just how hungry he was.
“Should we be doing this?” she asked. “I mean isn’t the cooking smell going to carry?”
Brand filled his plate. “If you’re worrying about Apaches, don’t. If they’re around they’ll find us whether we want them to or not. They’ll know we’re here already. Hiding fires and damping down cooking smells isn’t going to make us invisible. Showing we’re not going to be frightened off is a display of strength. They understand that. There’s a lot of damn nonsen
se talked about the Apache. He’s a whole lot smarter than people give him credit for.”
“You talk as if you respect the Indian.”
Brand’s gaze turned towards her in the deepening gloom. “No reason why not. I’ve fought the Apache. Doesn’t mean I can’t respect them as fighters — and men.” As soon as he had spoken Brand felt foolish; he was not used to expressing himself so readily; there was something about Elizabeth that brought words easily to his lips.
They finished their meal and after clearing up Brand extinguished the fire. Then they turned in. There was a good moon, layering the rocky terrain with cold, silvery light. Brand lay in his blankets, sleep eluding him for some reason. He could hear Elizabeth moving about restlessly herself. She seemed to be having difficulty settling down. He understood her state of mind. This trip would be hard on her. She would be wondering how her half-brother might receive her. Brand admired her for what she was doing. Unwittingly she was burdening herself with a great responsibility. Lobo had proved himself to be a heartless., brutal killer, so twisted by his twilight existence that he hated both sides — white and red. If Elizabeth was expecting him to meekly lay down his weapons and surrender, then she was in for a big shock. Brand never had believed in miracles. It may have been his profession that had turned him sour. Yet he could understand the deep-rooted hatred that could develop in a man’s mind. The appearance of a long lost sister was no guaranteed cure.
Brand considered, briefly, whether he should feel some guilt for the way he was using Elizabeth. He brushed the notion aside quickly. He was here to carry out the job he had been trained for. Feeling sorry for someone else could get him killed. It didn’t do to get too close. Elizabeth Henty was here by her own choosing, and damned if she wasn’t using him in her own way.
No — he had no right feeling guilty. His job was to get to Lobo and stop him. The way he achieved that goal didn’t matter. Lobo was killing a lot of people. Disturbing the balance of peace in the area. He had to be stopped. And if he was forced to use Elizabeth to get to the breed then so be it.
He drifted into sleep eventually. When he opened his eyes again it was dawn, the light breaking with a chill over the peaks toward the east. Brand rolled out of his blankets. At one of the tinajas he splashed water on his face. The water was icy and made him wince, but it woke him fully.
He rekindled the fire and got breakfast on the go. The sliced bacon in the pan was close to being ready when Elizabeth sat up, stroking hair away from her face.
“Good morning, Mr. Brand,” she said, smiling.
As she walked to the water pans Brand noticed she kept staring at the distant peaks. It was as if she was looking for something — even though the peaks were too far distant to yield anything. He watched her rinse her face. She was still eyeing the far distant mountains on her way back, and he could tell she was scared by the thoughts of what she might find once she got up there.
“Hungry?” he asked.
She nodded absently. She sat staring into the flames of the fire. When he handed her food across she took it and ate, and there could have been anything on the plate. Her mind had wandered again, travelling far ahead of her physical body.
“We’ll move on as soon as we clear things away,” Brand told her.
Half an hour later they were ready. The horses stood impatiently by while the gear was tied behind their saddles.
Brand led off, taking them along the crest of a ridge that wound an easterly course. From here the way would become progressively steeper as they pushed up into the mountains. Travel would be slow. The high slopes gave way to stretches of broken, brush-choked terrain. Deep ravines, crumbling talus ledges and places where tumbled rock formed impregnable barriers. It was sun scorched, bitter country. Pale dust rose from under the hooves of the horses, leaving an acrid, stinging taste in their mouths. And still high above them towered the silent, bleached peaks, stark against the cloudless sky. Up there were the vast, silent canyons. Empty, lifeless places of towering cliffs and bottomless chasms. It was a place unchanged by the passing years. Man had put his foot upon the land, and when he had gone nothing would have changed. The mountains remained. They would always remain. Man made a shadow that lasted but a few fleeting seconds. The mountains were eternal ...
Chapter Five
By mid morning the heat was intense. Sweat poured from them. The horses labored wearily across a flat, wide-open stretch of bleached rock, hooves ringing dully on the flinty surface. They were heading for a soaring rock face that swept into the sky. It lay directly ahead of them. There was a way through that Brand knew of. A narrow canyon that drove deep into the heart of the solid mass of rock. From there they would be able to follow a near-invisible trail that would take them to the next bank of slopes, and follow along to the higher reaches of the mountains.
Brand reined in, easing in his saddle to check on Elizabeth. She caught his glance and smiled weakly, then realized his attention had already drifted from her to something that had grabbed him urgently.
“Get down!” he snapped harshly, his right hand snatching the Winchester rifle from the scabbard at his saddle.
Elizabeth didn’t question his command. She threw herself from her saddle, stumbling as she landed. Brand was already off his horse, reaching out to take hold of her wrist and drag her to him. He pushed her roughly towards a shallow dip in the ground. As she landed Elizabeth heard the sudden, flat sound of a rifle shot. Moments later the bullet struck hard rock and whined off into the air. She realized how close it had been when she felt the patter of stone chips against her boots.
“Here!” Brand dropped down beside her, pushing her own rifle into her trembling hands. When she stared at him, not understanding, he said: “Apache.”
He didn’t waste time on more talk. There was enough to keep him busy. He had seen three of them, and that many seasoned Apache warriors were enough for any man.
They were somewhere in the scattering of rocks on the far side of open space separating them. Brand studied the lay of the land before him. The only consolation was that the Apaches had to cross the same open space if they wanted to reach him. They couldn’t come in from Brand’s rear. A few yards back a sheer rock face rose three-hundred feet into the air, but it was little comfort knowing that.
Brand glanced to where the horses stood. They had moved yards away, startled by the gunshot, but they had settled now. He didn’t expect the Apaches to kill the animals. Horses were prized by the Apache. Never more than at this time when the Apache was fighting for his collective life. A captured horse would be a welcome prize. Something to brag about and something that could be usefully used on raids. It enabled the fighting warriors to move faster, to strike deeper and to get away safely.
“It might seem a silly question, Mr. Brand, but what do we do now?”
Brand turned to look at her. Her face was a little pale. Apart from that she seemed calm enough. At least she wasn’t the kind of female liable to faint dead away at any sign of trouble.
“Before I do anything I want to know just how many of them there are.”
Out of the corner of his eye he sensed movement across the clearing. Turning in that direction he saw a lean brown figure dart from cover and make for a wide, squat boulder midway across the clearing. Brand pulled the Winchester round, snapping off a shot that laid a bullet into the ground inches from the Apache’s flashing feet. The Apache threw himself forward, rolling easily and slid out of sight behind the boulder before Brand could jack a second round into the Winchester’s breech.
“Damn!” he said forcibly.
“Another!” Elizabeth’s warning was firm, insistent, and she was leveling her own rifle even as she spoke.
Before she could fire a thunderous crash echoed among the rocks. The Apache who had just shown himself was picked up and hurled forward as if struck by some huge, invisible hand. The brown figure crashed face down on the ground, limbs flopping loosely. The lifeless body skidded some yards before coming to rest on its
back. There was a large, ugly wound, pulsing with blood and gore, in the naked chest.
Brand pulled his gaze from the dead Apache when he spotted movement by the squat boulder. The Apache he had shot at and missed showed himself. But not facing Brand. The Apache had turned and was aiming his rifle into the high rocks above his original position. Brand took the offered target, putting a single shot through the Apache’s head that pitched him face down on the ground.
The surviving Apache began to place return fire into the high rocks, seeking the hidden gunman. His unsuccessful attempt was highlighted when the concealed gun boomed once more. There was a short yell of agony from the Apache, then silence.
Brand remained where he was, gesturing for Elizabeth to do the same. He scanned the high rocks above the Apaches’ former position. He wasn’t going to move until he knew exactly what was going on. He wanted to be sure that whoever had shot the Apaches was friendly. He had recognized the sound of the hidden gunman’s weapon. It was a Sharps. The Big 50 as it was widely known. A rifle designed primarily for the killing of buffalo, it delivered a huge bullet with terrible force. It was a sure man stopper.
He caught sight of a figure moving down out of the rocks. Brand watched as the man, leading a big chestnut, worked his way down through the tumbled rocks until he was on level ground. As the man got closer Brand was able to make out the heavy shape of the Sharps he carried.
Beside him he heard Elizabeth give a quick, indrawn breath. She knew the man!
“Friend of yours?” he asked.
“No. But I do know who he is. Or what he calls himself. Preacher Jude. He was in Gallego before you arrived. He came to me and offered his services. As my spiritual comforter.”
“Your what?” Brand asked, turning to look her in the eye.
Elizabeth gave an apologetic smile. “Don’t ask me to explain. I didn’t waste any time trying to find out myself. To be honest, Mr. Brand, I found him strange.”
Brand turned back to watch Preacher Jude’s final approach. The Sharps was cradled in the crook of his arm now, some concession to the suggestion that he was coming in peace. Jude was dressed in black from head to foot. The suit, with its long coat, was wrinkled and stained with dust. The pants were stuffed into the tops of scuffed, run-over boots. He even wore a black shirt and string tie. Jude’s hat was flat crowned., with a wide brim. Up close Jude was a big man. Both tall and broad, his shoulders bulging under the taut cloth of his jacket. Brand did notice he was starting to run to fat around the waist. His thick hair was black and so was the heavy beard covering the lower half of his face. The eyes that peered out on the world were cold and flint hard.
