Shoot Angel!

by Frederick H. Christian

  For Birdy and Capucci the journey had become a nightmare. Their suffering was made the more unbearable by Angel’s complete indifference. He simply led the way without a word. Nothing appeared to worry him. His tireless, rangy physique seemed to absorb all that the elements threw at him. His long legs ate up the miles without pause.

  ‘Hold it!’ Angel rapped out, throwing up a hand for silence.

  Capucci, stubborn to the last, rasped: ‘I don’t hear nothing!’

  Angel said nothing. There was no need. Before any of them had a chance to do a thing, three riders burst into view over the crest of the slope just ahead of them. The riders and horses were streaked with dust and sweat. Every man carried a rifle, and as they spotted the three escapees they began to open fire.

  ‘Scatter!’ Angel yelled. He felt the vicious sting of a bullet burn its way across the muscle of his left arm. He turned and took long strides towards a scattering of rocks, moving in a zigzag pattern. Bullets whacked the hard earth around him. Angel blessed the fact that there weren’t many men who could score a hit on a moving target from the back of a horse. Yet there was always the lucky shot finding its mark. Angel took a long dive groundwards. He let his body roll, paying no head to the bruising it was receiving. As he wriggled in amongst the rocks he heard the solid thwack of bullets gouging the protective stone. He curled up at the base of a high boulder, reached down and slid out one of his throwing-knives. Those bastards out there were looking for blood! Well they could have some, but it damn well wasn’t going to be Frank Angel’s!

  He caught sight of a large shadow flitting across the rocks to one side of where he was crouching. Angel watched the shadows grow larger as the rider pushed his horse deeper into the rocks. He waited, estimating the distance he was going to have to send his knife. Slowly Angel rose to his feet as the horse’s head appeared. His arm eased back in the final seconds before the rider showed himself. The rider’s head was already turning in Angel’s direction, eyes flickering in recognition. The man tried desperately to bring his rifle over from the far side of his body. By then Angel had already cast the knife. It winked coldly in the bright sunlight as it flashed across the empty space between Angel and his target. The rider uttered a shallow cry as the hard steel bit into the muscle of his neck. He let go of his rifle and tried to drag the offending blade from his body. Blood streamed from the wound, staining his fingers, soaking his shirt. As Angel approached the rider the man turned to stare at him with eyes already glazing over. A frothy burst of blood erupted from his loose mouth. Keeling over, the man toppled from his saddle. Angel grabbed the loose reins of the skittish horse and moved to tie it to a knob of rock close by. When he returned to pick up the fallen rifle the man was dead. Angel retrieved his knife and put it away. He unstrapped the man’s gun belt, put it on and checked the heavy revolver. For a second Angel gazed at the dead man, regret clouding his features for an instant.

  Leaving the horse, Angel moved to the edge of the rocks. The other riders were still in sight, firing at a mass of rocks. They weren’t making any attempt at talking Birdy or Capucci out. It seemed that Trench kept his word. He’d told Angel back at the camp that anyone breaking the rules could expect to be shot. Angel cocked the rifle. At least the rules were easy to understand. He put the rifle to his shoulder and shot the closest of the riders out of the saddle. The man hit the ground hard, cursing loudly and obscenely. Angel had put a bullet through his shoulder. The man rolled about on the ground, blood spurting from the wound. The third rider yanked his horse about, searching for the source of the shot. He spurred his horse forward, moving towards Angel, as if he was immune to bullets. Angel levered another round into the chamber.

  ‘You hold that horse right there, friend!’ Angel warned. ‘I can take you out easy from where I am!’

  The rider cleared his throat and spat into the dust. He leaned forward, peering in the direction of Angel’s cover.

  ‘Come on out of there, boy,’ he yelled. ‘Bad enough you tried to break out. Now you gone and shot one of us! Boy, you are dead already! Now get yourself out here and fast, you son of a bitch!’

  ‘Hey,’ Angel called, ‘you understand Spanish?’

  ‘What?’ The rider scowled. ‘Naw, I don’t understand Spanish. Why?’

  ‘I figured you might seeing as you can’t understand English. I asked you to stay put else you’re liable to got shot!’

  ‘Balls!’ the rider roared. ‘Damn you, mister, I done wastin’ my time!’ Without another word he began to dismount.

  Angel shot his left leg from under him. The man lost control and fell face down on the ground. He yelled in pain and anger. Before he could make any kind of recovery Angel had stepped out from the rocks, crossed over to where he lay, and had kicked the man’s rifle out of his reach. The man grunted bitterly, staring up at Angel.

  ‘You bastard!’

  ‘Shut your mouth,’ Angel told him. ‘Figure yourself lucky you ain’t dead!’

  The man began to reply, then thought about what Angel had told him and fell silent. He made no protest as Angel took his gun belt.

  Birdy and Capucci were coming across the clearing to where Angel stood. Capucci was carrying the weapons belonging to the man Angel had shot in the shoulder. He was also leading the man’s horse.

  ‘How the hell did you manage it?’ Birdy asked. He took the weapons Angel handed him.

  ‘I live right,’ Angel told him. He returned to the rocks and brought out the horse he’d left there.

  ‘Where to now?’ Birdy asked. ‘Angel?’

  ‘You know where I’m going,’ Angel said. ‘Use that horse, Birdy. Go where the hell you like.’

  ‘That’s about the only place you’re going, Angel!’ Capucci’s voice rapped out the words.

  Angel turned slowly. He watched Capucci step into the open, his right hand held close to the butt of the gun now strapped around his waist.

  ‘Now what’s eating you, Capucci?’ Angel asked.

  ‘I aim to kill you before I ride out, Angel,’ Capucci stated.

  Angel’s face remained impassive.

  ‘Why? Because I put you down?’

  ‘Yeah! I didn’t like that. I don’t let no man just walk into my life and do that! So we settle, Angel! Here—now!’

  Birdy threw up his hands in despair.

  ‘Capucci, for God’s sake! You must be crazy! You don’t figure to kill a man just because he punched you on the jaw and knocked you down! Hell, Trench and his boys are swarming all over these damn hills, liable to show up any minute and you want to play gunfighters! What you got inside that thick head of yours? Horseshit?’

  ‘Stay out of this, you little asshole!’ Capucci warned. ‘Put your nose in and I’ll shoot it off!’

  ‘That before or after you’ve buried me?’ Angel asked.

  ‘I don’t like your funny mouth, Angel.’

  ‘Capucci, I don’t want to fight you. But I’m not going to back off and give you a chance to gun me when I ain’t looking. I reckon you’re a fool to push this just for the sake of stupid pride but that’s your problem.’

  ‘Angel, I’m going to kill you! I’m going to blow you wide open, you smart-assed bastard!’

  Capucci was grinning. A confident expression filtered across his face. His right hand began its swift movement towards the butt of the gun holstered on his hip. Capucci felt the tips of his fingers stroke the smooth wood, begin to curl around the shaped butt. He was watching Angel and Angel hadn’t even moved. Capucci’s eyes narrowed. Disbelief clouded his face. Angel hadn’t moved—yet there was a gun in his hand. He hadn’t moved … had he? Damnit, he hadn’t! Capucci snatched at his own gun, felt the comforting weight as it came free from its holster. His thumb dogged back the hammer, his finger applying pressure to the trigger. He heard the whip crack snap of a shot. A solid blow struck his right shoulder. Capucci felt himself turned about. He plunged forward, gasping at the white-hot pain engulfing his shoulder. The hard earth rushed up to meet him and he s
truck it with stunning force. The heavy gun slipped from dead fingers. Capucci lay in shocked silence. He twisted his head and stared at the glistening red mess of his shoulder.

  Angel put away his gun. He glanced at Birdy, who was staring at him in utter silence.

  ‘What was I supposed to do? Kill him?’ Angel asked.

  Birdy shook himself, blinking as if coming out of a deep sleep. He watched Angel kneel beside Capucci and expertly fashion a bandage from a couple of strips torn from Capucci’s own shirt.

  ‘Capucci, you get on that horse and you ride, mister. Make sure you don’t ride in my direction. Next time I see you I’ll finish what you started here. Find yourself a doctor when you can. Please yourself about that. I don’t give a damn.’

  Angel stood up and walked to his horse. He swung into the saddle, turning to stare down at Birdy. ‘I’m heading for Liberty. Ride along if you want. But I got business there that isn’t about to win me any popularity contests.’

  Birdy mounted his horse and fell in alongside.

  ‘I’ll ride a ways with you, Angel. I need the time to figure you out.’

  They cut away from the place, swinging in a wide loop that would bring them in towards Liberty from the east. Angel was hoping to avoid further contact with Trench and his hired guns. He wasn’t too optimistic.

  Ahead of then lay an undulating fall of land. A crisscross landscape of small canyons and ravines, jagged fissures striking deep into the rocky terrain. And hanging over it all the swollen orb of the sun, radiating sullen heat that flowed into every crack, every hollow.

  Angel rode with his rifle laid across his thighs, eyes constantly searching for any sign of pursuit, any movement, however slight, that might reveal some concealed marksman. Trench’s men had showed him the way they operated, and as far as Angel was concerned he would deal them the same hand. In a situation like this there was no time for the niceties of life. You were either quick or very dead!

  ‘Angel, behind us!’ Birdy’s tone was urgent.

  Angel reined in and swiveled round in his saddle, shading his eyes against the savage glare of the high sun. On a distant ridge, maybe a half-mile back, he could see five riders outlined against the brassy sky.

  ‘Damn!’ Angel watched the riders for a minute. ‘Bet you those sons of bitches are sitting watching us right now, Birdy.’ He gazed round, seeing nothing to offer him any kind of comfort. ‘Well, they sure got us spotted now. All they got to do is keep coming.’

  ‘Ain’t much chance of losing ’em in this country,’ Birdy observed. ‘Between here and Liberty it’s all the same.’ The little man screwed up his face. ‘Caught between a rock and hard place, Angel,’ he said, using a well-worn phrase.

  Angel smiled. He could have used that phrase as his personal motto. He’d been in the position so many times he took it for granted now as part of his life.

  ‘Birdy, you picked a bad time to take a ride with me.’

  The skinny man’s shoulders lifted in a quick shrug.

  ‘What the hell, Angel,’ he said, ‘where else did I have to go? Least I’m out of that damn place. Worth it just for that.’

  ‘You could end up dead,’ Angel said as they rode on.

  ‘We all end up dead sooner or later.’ Birdy fell silent for a time. After a bit, unable to restrain his curiosity any longer, he asked: ‘Tell me Angel, just who the hell are you? I got to know ’cause it’s drivin’ me crazy!’

  Angel didn’t reply. Instead he reached down to work something out of a slit pocket in his leather belt, something that caught the sun on its silver face. Silently Angel handed a circular badge to Birdy, watching the amazed expression cross the man’s face. Birdy studied the badge closely, reading the words inscribed around the edge of the disc. Department of Justice, United States of America, it read, and embossed in the center of the badge was the symbolic screaming eagle. Gradually a smile etched itself across Birdy’s face. The smile widened and became a chuckle, which in turn rose until Birdy was laughing out loud.

  ‘Jesus Christ, Angel, you sure fooled us all! And me—breaking out of jail alongside a goddamn lawman! Hey, if this ever gets out I’ll never live it down!’ The thought triggered off another bout of laughter. ‘Wish I could’ve soon Capucci’s face if he’d found out! One thing he hates is a badge-toter!’

  Angel retrieved his badge and returned it to its resting-place. He let Birdy calm down before he asked: ‘How do you feel about the law?’

  Birdy sighed. ‘Hell, Angel, we all got a living to earn. Me, I been riding the owlhoot trail most of my life. Never did amount to much. Always small-time stuff. Just enough to keep me going. That was when I weren’t in jail. I got this thing about being caught all the time. Just keeps happening. And I never been one for using a gun so I end up behind bars.’ Birdy’s face hardened. ‘Mind you, this Liberty deal got me mad as hell. Wouldn’t mind if I’d done anything.’ He grinned again. ‘Hey, Angel, truth is I was framed! No foolin’!’

  ‘I know the feeling, Birdy.’

  ‘You mean to tell me they took you, Angel? I thought you Justice Department boys were smart!’

  ‘Yeah, that’s what they keep telling me.’ Angel smiled.

  ‘Do they know who you are?’

  Angel shook his head.

  ‘Far as they know I’m just another stranger who rode in. I said I was looking for Harry Culp. Told them I was a friend.’

  ‘But you ain’t?’

  ‘Culp was on the run. He was carrying seventy-five thousand dollars with him. Proceeds of the swindle he’d been involved in. I trailed him as far as Liberty, then walked in on the neat little set-up Judge Cranford and Sheriff Sherman have going.’

  ‘So now you got to go back to Liberty and take ’em?’

  ‘Something like that,’ Angel admitted. ‘Only I don’t expect it to be the year’s most peaceful event. Culp’s dead. Murdered. They’ll know I’ve found that out and I don’t expect any of them to fancy ending up at the end of a rope.’ Angel paused. ‘You still want to ride with me, Birdy?’

  ‘Could be interesting.’

  ‘Birdy, I think you could be right.’

  Chapter Ten

  Late afternoon. The setting sun cast long, black shadows across the naked land. The searing heat of midday had slowly evaporated. Now a pulsing warmth flowed out across the earth.

  Frank Angel and Birdy crouched in the shadow of a low hill and studied the town of Liberty. There didn’t appear to be anything out of place. Nothing to suggest anyone waiting for them. But Angel knew different. There was nothing tangible. Nothing he could put his finger on. Just a gut feeling. An instinct. And Angel had learned to trust his feelings.

  He knew damn well that by now Cranford and Sherman would have got the word he was free. That he had escaped. Trench would have sent word. Acting on the information Cranford would have arranged for a reception party.

  ‘Looks pretty peaceful,’ Birdy murmured. ‘But they wouldn’t want it to look anything except peaceful.’

  ‘They know we’re coming,’ Angel said. ‘They’ll be waiting.’

  ‘Ain’t going to make it easy, Angel.’

  ‘It never is easy,’ Angel told him.

  Leading the horses, they walked the last stretch. Angel approached the town in a wide circle, bringing them in at the rear of the buildings along the main street.

  ‘We’ll leave the horses here,’ he said.

  Birdy nodded and they tethered the animals in the shade of thick brush.

  ‘Ain’t going to be time to change your mind once we get in there,’ Angel reminded Birdy. ‘You still want to get yourself involved?’

  ‘Can’t be any worse than me trying to run on my own, Angel. Hell, man, I told you I ain’t no gunfighter. I get out there with Trench’s men chasin’ me I’d be back in that camp ’fore you could whistle Dixie! That was if they didn’t shoot me first. You saw the way those three were we tangled with.’ Birdy grinned. ‘I’ll take my chance with you, Angel.’

  ‘All
right, Birdy. I’ll tell you something so listen good ’cause I ain’t going to say it again. If we come up against any of Cranford’s boys remember one thing. If it comes to a fight I don’t bother with rules. Any man who tries to kill me better be damn good and do it the first time. He won’t get a second chance.’

  Moving from cover to cover, utilizing every clump of brush, every rock, every rise and hollow in the ground, Angel and Birdy closed in on Liberty. Soon they were in a position to be able to see clearly the trash-littered back lots of the buildings. Angel was looking for one building in particular. Once he had it spotted he led the way along the fringe of brush skirting the very edge of town.

  ‘That the place?’ Birdy whispered.

  Angel nodded. He crouched down and studied the rear of Jessica Blake’s restaurant. He could see that a lamp had been lit in the kitchen against the fast-approaching darkness and he could make out a faint shape moving back and forth behind the curtained window.

  They stayed where they were for a good quarter of an hour, until Angel had satisfied himself there were no waiting gunmen in the vicinity. Convinced at last that it was safe, Angel touched Birdy’s shoulder and they broke out of cover, heading directly for the rear of the restaurant. Angel tried the rear door and found it unlocked. He eased it open and stepped silently into the kitchen, Birdy close behind him.

  ‘Hello, Jess,’ he said gently.

  The slim figure, bent over a long table, tensed. Dark hair swirled away from her face as she turned, green eyes wide with surprise. The shock lasted only a second.

  ‘Do you think you’ll be able to stop long enough to finish your meal this time?’Jess asked.

  Angel grinned. ‘I wouldn’t count on, it.’

  ‘I heard what had happened to you. How did you get away from that camp?’