Shadow of the Vulture

by John J. McLaglen

  Herne was glad he was still alive. Somewhere. One day it would be good to ride out and meet him and talk about the old times. One day.

  When he had finished his present business. When he had got rid of Nolan. Then there would be time to go visiting.

  Maybe...

  Chapter Nine

  What was it Isaac Mellor had said to him back in Charity? Something about showing a cowboy anything that resembled civilization and he’ll do his best to try and smash it down? Well, thought Herne, I don’t reckon I feel quite that bad about progress, but...

  San Francisco wasn’t as bad as New York, though there were enough solid, three or four storey buildings around to make it clear that this was no overnight sensation. This was a settled community, built on money. Money that had bought stone and brick and constructed itself a base that wouldn’t easily crumble away.

  Hell, thought Herne, as he looked about him, it would take an earthquake to shift this place!

  ‘This senator of yours,’ said Pardoe, ‘you any idea where he is?’

  ‘Not really. I figured that an important man like that wouldn’t be all that difficult to find. Even in a town this big.’

  ‘Unless he wants to be,’ commented Pardoe.

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘If he did by any chance get to hear about what happened back in New York then it’s odds on that he’s expecting you to come looking for him. That being so, he may have elected to disappear from sight.’

  Herne shrugged. ‘I’ll just have to ask around.’

  ‘Mightn’t that be a mite risky. He’s expecting you, then likely he’s got the word out for a gunman asking questions about where he is. According to you, it seems to be his thing to hire a parcel of men to protect him and do his dirty work for him.’

  Herne knew all that the gambler said was true and he told him so.

  ‘Why don’t you give me the opportunity to repay you for the very considerable favors you’ve done for me?’

  ‘How’s that?’

  ‘I meet a lot of people over the cards. Gossip’s a natural thing. There isn’t anything much about a town you can’t hear in its saloons. Not if you keep your ears open. You lie low for a while. I’ll find out where Senator Nolan is.’

  It sounded sensible, but Herne was feeling restless again. Impatient to be about his business. To have got all that way from one coast of the country to the other and then to have to hide up in some hotel room...

  ‘It’s up to you, of course, Jed. But I should appreciate being given the chance to help.’

  ‘How long do you reckon you’ll need?’ Herne asked.

  ‘Couple of days, maybe. That should be enough to get a good lead anyway.’

  Herne thought about it a little longer but there was no way in which he could turn down the gambler’s offer.

  ‘All right. Two days. But after that I’m going to move around in the open and see what I can find for myself.’

  The two men shook hands on the agreement. It would be two days when the time would hang heavy for Jed Herne, but after those days were over...

  As it happened, he didn’t have to wait so long. After his first evening’s gambling, Wayne Pardoe came back to the small, anonymous hotel at which they were both staying. There was a twinkle in his eyes.

  ‘You sure look as though you had luck in your comer tonight,’ said Herne.

  The gambler cast his eyes downwards and shook his head ostentatiously. ‘Terrible!’ he complained loudly. ‘I do believe I lost more money this evening than at any other time in my whole career.’

  ‘Then what are you looking so all-fired pleased about?’

  ‘I found our man!’

  ‘Nolan?’

  ‘Certainly.’

  Herne jumped up from the bed on which he had been lying. ‘Well, come on! Where is he?’ He was shouting. Excited.

  ‘Patience, Jed, patience!’

  ‘To hell with patience! Just tell me where he is!’

  Wayne realized that it was no use stalling any longer. He told what he had discovered in as much detail as he could. ‘Seems he not only doesn’t want you looking for him, he doesn’t want anyone else doing it either. Keeps himself shut away in a house on top of a street called Telegraph Hill. Sits in a big room all day and counts his money. Never leaves the place. Used to get out once in a while with his son, but since the boy was killed he never does that. Locks himself up in the house with enough armed men around the place to keep a small army out.’

  ‘What’s the place look like? You know that?’

  ‘From what I was told there’s a high wall, mostly covered with ivy. On the other side of that there’s pretty big grounds patrolled by his men and some dogs. The house itself is built from stone. It’s four storeys and his room is on the second.’

  ‘You found out a lot,’ said Herne, impressed.

  ‘Got into a game with a feller who used to work there till he was fired. Fell asleep on guard and one of the others reported him. That was enough for Nolan.’

  ‘Reckon you could trust what he told you?’

  ‘I think so. He didn’t have any cause to lie to me. And he sure hadn’t a reason for protecting Nolan. Hated him like rattlesnake poison.’

  ‘Fair enough.’ Herne stood up and reached for his gun belt.

  ‘You’re not going there now?’ exclaimed Pardoe, surprised.

  ‘Sure am. With luck there might be another guard or two taking a sleep.’

  Pardoe sighed and stood up.

  ‘What do you think you’re about to do?’ asked Herne.

  The gambler looked astonished. ‘Go with you of course. I never thought you’d go alone.’

  ‘You’ve done your part,’ said Herne. ‘Now it’s time for mine.’

  ‘You can’t go up against all of them men alone.’

  The grim smile returned to Herne’s lips. ‘See here, every time there’s been guns around, it’s me that’s had to end up shooting those folks who were out to get you. Now I don’t want to go after Nolan worried about having to get you out of some scrape or other. No offence, but I shall feel a whole lot easier if you’re back here asleep.’

  Pardoe opened his mouth to protest, but realized that it was no use. He sat down on the chair alongside the bed and watched Herne make the rest of his preparations.

  It wasn’t too dark and it wasn’t too bright. Just an ordinary night like many another. Ordinary except for the house at the crest of the hill. Ordinary except for the man who stepped silently around it

  Nolan had amassed so much wealth that he had got himself into the position where he could not enjoy spending it. You don’t get money like that without making a whole lot of enemies along with it. So you have to protect yourself—and your fortune. Almost the only thing that the senator willingly spent anything on now was protection.

  He paid one hell of a lot to stop other folks taking away the money he couldn’t spend.

  Herne wondered how many evenings, alone in that house, the senator sat pondering over the irony of his situation.

  The moon slid out into full view and Jed stopped moving, flattening himself back against the outside wall. The brickwork was rough against his fingertips–and cold. As far as he had been able to gather there were two men who made a patrol of the exterior on the quarter-hour. When they weren’t doing that, the pair of them stood by the iron gates at the front of the house, hands jammed down into the pockets of their long coats, moaning and cursing the coldness and length of the night.

  From what he had seen over the wall, another pair of guards walked around inside the grounds. These were the ones who had the dogs; two vicious looking German shepherds which pulled hard at their leashes they were held back on.

  There was no way of knowing how many more waited inside the house itself. But likely several.

  Herne regretted that there were so many. Partly for making his job that much more difficult; partly because of the necessity of killing at least some of those men. But…they had known what they we
re doing when they had taken on their jobs. Most of all, Nolan had known what he was paying them to risk. If there was an ultimate responsibility, then it was his, thought Herne, not mine. Not mine.

  He drew the bayonet from his boot and started to move carefully around the outside wall. It was almost time for the two men on patrol to make their next circuit.

  The shape of the wall was rectangular; Herne stood back against it by one comer. Listened for footsteps coming towards him from the right. Two men making perhaps their tenth circuit of the night. Men who were bored by their monotonous duties. Cold due to the wind that moved across the top of the hill like a sheet of ice. Wind that pierced into them as they turned comers; pierced their clothing like…like a knife.

  Herne stepped out suddenly. His right hand drove itself into the chest of the man immediately in front of him. That hand held the bayonet blade. His left hand moved quickly up to the other guard’s face. In that hand nestled the Colt, the hammer already cocked back.

  The first guard bent forward, his hands reaching round the blade. Herne pushed upwards and felt something burst against the point. Then the hands fell quickly away. The guard’s mouth opened and blood gushed out.

  All the while–a time that was in reality brief, but which seemed to stretch on for eternity–the second guard stared down into the barrel of Herne’s gun. He looked at the hammer and wanted to close his eyes but he could not. They were open as wide as they could go. As though pins had fixed them back, holding the fleshy folds of his eyelids tight against his face.

  Herne tugged the bayonet clear from the man’s chest and transferred the point to the neck of the guard who was still standing. He released the hammer of the Colt and moved it back across his body and down into the holster.

  He spoke softly, but the man heard every word as clearly as if he was shouting. ‘That could have been you. If you call out or make a wrong move, it will be. Understand?’

  Eyes still unnaturally wide, the terrified man nodded.

  ‘Right. Take that coat off him.’

  Herne waited, then slipped the coat on himself. At the front there was a patch that was sticky and wet with the blood of the man from whose body it had just been removed.

  ‘Now walk round to the gate. Easy.’

  The guard did as he was told. At the wrought iron double gates, the two of them stopped.

  ‘Key,’ said Herne.

  ‘No.’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, no?’ Herne hissed.

  ‘We don’t have the key. They let us out from inside. We have to knock to get in again.’

  ‘What if you need to warn them of something?’

  ‘We just holler and they come a-runnin’.’

  ‘Hell!’

  Herne had been hoping to slip in quietly with the second guard and make a try at getting right into the house alongside him. Now it seemed that it wasn’t going to be possible.

  ‘Okay. When I tell you, you let out a good shout. Tell them someone bushwhacked your pal. Just get them up here and get that gate open. And don’t say a damn word about me, or you’ll find it’s your last.’

  The man looked back at Herne, a bemused expression on his face.

  What’s the matter with you? You don’t understand me or somethin’?’

  ‘No, mister. I understand you.’

  ‘That’s good. You see it stays that way.’

  Herne moved back away from the gate and against the wall. ‘All right. Now you do as I say. And do it good.’

  The guard hesitated a few moments longer. Then he grabbed tight hold of the bars of the gate and yelled out in a cracked voice. ‘Help! Hey! Get down here! Someone’s stabbed Jimmy. Get down here quick.’

  Herne listened for voices from within, but there was no immediate activity. When he did hear them, it was obvious that they weren’t being drawn to the gate right off. They appeared to be arguing about the best move to make.

  ‘Tell them to get a move on!’ whispered Herne urgently.

  ‘Hey! Get down here fast! Jimmy’s hurt real bad!’

  The voices inside the darkness of the grounds became more urgent, but still no one came to the gate. Then Herne heard footsteps moving up the gravel path. One man. So that was the way they were playing it.

  He held himself back and waited while the footsteps approached.

  ‘What’s going on, Al?’ asked the new voice.

  ‘I don’t know. We was attacked sudden. It was over in a minute. Jimmy, he’s...’

  ‘He’s what?’ came the impatient reply.

  ‘He’s back round by the wall. He’s hurt real bad.’

  ‘Well drag him round here and we’ll take him into the house.’

  ‘Hell, Frank, you’ll have to come out and give me a hand. Maybe those fellers who got him are still out there waiting.’

  ‘Fellers? How many of them?’

  ‘I don’t know, Frank. It’s too dark to see.’

  There was a pause during which Herne could hear the guard shifting his boots over the gravel while he weighed up the situation. Then he called back, ‘I’m comin’ out, Al. I’ll lock the gate behind me. You stay where you are.’

  Herne heard the key turn in the lock. He held his breath as the metal catch snapped back. His eyes were fixed on the face of the guard on his side of the wall. The gate swung back and the man called Frank stepped half way out into the street.

  ‘Where the hell did you say this happened?’

  Al didn’t respond.

  ‘Well, where is he? Which way?’ Frank demanded.

  Fear filled the man’s eyes. He didn’t seem capable of speech. But neither could he prevent his eyes drifting to the point alongside the gate where Herne was standing. Eyes that gave their warning too late.

  ‘What the...?’

  Frank stepped forward and looked over in the direction of Al’s sly glance. At that moment Herne threw the bayonet, from very close range. The blade plunged into Al’s belly. Its impact sent him juddering several yards backward. Before his body had had time to hit the ground, Herne had drawn his gun and was pointing it at Frank.

  ‘Hold it right there!’ he barked.

  Frank took one look at the man standing in darkness, and decided that that was enough. ‘No way!’ he shouted and whirled round and ran back inside the grounds.

  Why in the name of tarnation does everyone make life so difficult, thought Herne. He stood in the gateway and leveled his Colt at the shape that was rapidly becoming lost in the surrounding gloom.

  He fired.

  The man called Frank stopped in his tracks then crashed to the ground. He didn’t move again.

  Herne did. Fast. There was a clump of bushes over to the right and he dived headlong into them before anyone else appeared on the scene. Just in time...

  ‘What the hell!?’

  ‘Frank? Frank?’

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  A number of lights had gone on in the downstairs windows. Herne waited to see if the front door would open.

  ‘Keep calm! And turn off those damned lights!’

  Almost at once, the lights went out.

  Ahead of him, on the drive, Herne could just make out the silhouettes of several men pulling Frank’s prostrate body towards the house.

  ‘Whoever it was shot him in the back, the rotten bastard!’

  ‘Don’t worry. We’ll get him. Bring those dogs over here.’

  Herne checked his gun, tensed himself, waited.

  He knew he wasn’t going to like this part. He was fond of animals—more so than he was of his fellow man.

  At first it seemed that the dogs had not picked up his scent but he was sure they soon would. He wondered how many of the beasts they had loosed on his trail?

  In the event it turned out to be only one. He saw the large black shape bounding across the damp grass. It stopped suddenly in its tracks, raised its head, sniffed the air, then gave two loud barks. Herne steadied his gun.

  The dog lowered its head and pawed the ground. It
had found him. It came at him with a rush. Herne waited until it was almost on top of him, eyes bright, yellow fangs glinting in the moonlight, jaws slavering, then fired.

  The dog halted in mid-air. The bullet had torn through the top of its head. It crashed into the bushes, whimpered briefly, then lay still.

  Herne let out a sigh of relief and listened keenly in the cold night air. It was unlikely that his pursuers had loosed only one dog after him. There must be at least one more somewhere in the grounds. But where? He picked himself up and ran quietly over the grass, towards the side of the house. He wished he knew where the other dog was.

  Suddenly he knew. It sprang from nowhere to meet him. Before Herne had a chance of getting a shot at it. He pushed up his left arm in front of his face. He yelled out in pain as the sharp teeth closed around it, biting through several layers of clothing; through skin; coming down against the bone.

  The force of the dog’s leap had knocked him backwards and now man and animal rolled over and over on the grass. Herne did his best to ram his arm further into the dog’s mouth, forcing it wider. The beast bit down angrily, seeking to get past the out flung arm and tear at Herne’s throat.

  The noise spread through the grounds of the house and people soon came running. Herne used every remaining effort to throw the dog over on to its back. Then he lifted it into the air, teeth still digging into his arm like needle points of fire. He slammed the animal down on to the ground with all of his strength. The dog’s grip on his left arm held. Herne crouched, drew his gun and fired into the underside of the dog’s body, then smashed the butt down on its head. The sound of crunching bone could be heard clearly in the stillness of the night air.

  Herne pulled his left arm clear and turned in the same movement. There were three men running towards him. Three shapes. A sudden flash and the explosion of a pistol being fired. Shouts of anger. Herne dropped to one knee and fired three times in quick succession. The nearest man threw up his arms and let out an almighty yell. Herne’s shot had caught him right in the crotch.

  He had winged one of the others; missed the third. Not that he had waited around to count. He figured now was time to get inside the house.