‘Governor Bradbury appointed—’
‘He appointed you to deliver Javier Rodriguez to Bear Creek and he appointed me to help you do that,’ Shackleton shouted, waving his arms, ‘but when your arrogance in ignoring my advice let Javier escape, I reckon all appointments ended.’
Then Shackleton turned away. Elwood stayed to glare at Kurt for a moment longer before joining him.
They had mounted their horses and were turning away from the post when Kurt headed to his horse with his head down. He joined them without comment, leaving the other men to cut down the bodies.
When they left the post they headed away from Bear Creek and, under Elwood’s guidance, tracked east and parallel with Devil’s Canyon.
Throughout the long afternoon they kept a steady pace each man riding in aggrieved silence with most of the mutual loathing still remaining unspoken. The sun was lowering when Kurt broke the silence.
‘Are we following any particular trail, Elwood, or are you guessing?’
‘There’s a watering hole around five miles on,’ Elwood said. ‘Javier would have headed for it.’
‘And if he didn’t?’
‘He’ll be thirsty and so I’ll be even more sure where he went.’
Kurt accepted this information with a curt nod.
‘Obliged for the information.’
‘And I’ll tell you something else that’s interesting. We’re being followed.’
‘Who?’ Kurt snapped, turning to Elwood, as did Shackleton, this news also taking him by surprise.
‘Ain’t sure. It’s a lone rider and he’s making no attempt to come closer.’
Shackleton resisted the urge to look back, but he put aside that concern soon enough when they approached the watering hole.
Men were milling around it, and he counted eight in total.
They’d been riding through low scrub and the cover was poor enough to mean they would have been seen if the men were being attentive, but the sun was behind them and the afternoon was sultry enough to encourage sloth.
They dismounted. Kurt opened up a telescope to survey the scene. He grunted to himself, then passed it to Shackleton, who saw that the eight men were either resting or roaming around. Their casual postures and attitude suggested they hadn’t seen them approach.
Shackleton also grunted when he recognized Javier Rodriguez, then passed the telescope on to Elwood.
‘Three against eight,’ Shackleton said, ‘but that’ll work out fine if we can surprise them.’
‘We go to ground,’ Kurt said, ‘split up, and sneak up on them. I’ll give the order to attack.’
The matter of who was in charge hadn’t been discussed again so, to avoid an argument, Shackleton quietly glanced at Elwood, who nodded. Then, with a few quick arm movements, Elwood pointed out the best route that would keep them low and hidden and let them get to within yards of the watering hole without being seen.
Kurt agreed to this route, so they collected rope to tie up any prisoners who might survive the forthcoming onslaught. Then they set off, staying together for the first half of the journey, then splitting up for the second 400 yards.
Shackleton walked doubled over, risking a glance upward every fifty paces to orient himself. Each look confirmed that the men were showing no sign of moving out or that they were aware they were being approached.
Fifty yards from the watering hole the scrub petered out, so Shackleton stopped and waited for the signal to attack. He settled down on his belly and picked his targets, the first being Javier Rodriguez, who was standing beside his horse speaking with Turner Jackson.
But then both men swung round to peer towards the sun, their hands coming up to their foreheads as they shielded their eyes. Shackleton winced, his finger tightening on the trigger. But they were looking at a spot that neither Elwood nor Kurt had planned to head for.
Quickly, the other men stopped whatever they were doing and joined Javier in looking. Then hoofbeats pounded, approaching fast.
‘Our follower,’ Shackleton murmured to himself. He turned his gaze away from Javier, looking to see who was coming.
The hoofbeats stopped. A horse whinnied. Then, from the corner of his eye, Shackleton saw Javier drop to his knees, the other men did the same, then scrambled into hiding.
‘Don’t be a fool!’ Kurt shouted, his voice coming from fifty yards to Shackleton’s right.
With the element of surprise gone, Javier and his men started firing blind while scrambling for their horses.
Shackleton fired off a couple of shots that splayed wide, then he slipped back into the scrub and ran towards where he’d heard the sound of Kurt’s voice.
He’d covered half the distance when the horse and rider came into view. He was shocked to see that their follower was a woman. Kurt had looped a hand around the harness and she was trying to tear herself loose.
Gunfire erupted from over by the watering hole, making Kurt flinch away; this let the woman shake herself free. Her horse reared before she got it under control. Then she spurred it to head on to the hole.
Shackleton put Javier from his mind and uncoiled the rope he’d brought along. He played it out, swung a loop twice around his head, then threw it. The woman was building up to a trot when the rope landed with unerring accuracy over the horse’s head.
Shackleton planted his feet wide, but the trotting horse still dragged him on, heading straight for the open area. Half-running, half-stumbling while trying to dig in his heels Shackleton staggered on, but then Elwood joined him and a second lasso came down on the horse’s head.
With the two men pulling back from either side of her, they drew the horse to a halt. Only then did Shackleton look to the watering hole, but it was to see a cloud of dust as Javier and his men made the best use of this distraction to make good their escape.
Kurt went sprinting after them but, from the redness of his face, Shackleton judged it was more out of anger than from a feeling that he would achieve anything. And it would have to be on his own as Shackleton didn’t like the thought of leaving the woman and risking her making another foolish dash towards the escaped prisoners.
Slowly, Shackleton and Elwood drew in the rope until they stood beside the horse. The woman struggled and tried to move the horse on in every direction. Then eventually she relented, lowered her head and sobbed.
Shackleton motioned for Elwood to keep a firm grip of his rope. Then he released his own rope and helped the woman down. But then she shook him off, sat on the ground, and bawled.
Nothing Shackleton could say could stem the flow of tears that marred her otherwise pretty, oval face, so he consulted with Elwood, who for once found himself with a problem for which he didn’t have an answer. So they waited.
Ten minutes later the woman stopped snivelling, and five minutes after that a glowering Kurt returned, having accepted that Javier had got away, for now.
‘She all right?’ he asked.
‘I think she will be, but what was she doing?’
‘We want Javier because that’s our job,’ Kurt said, kneeling down beside her. ‘But Narcissa Maxwell wants him for revenge.’
At the mention of her name, Narcissa looked up. Despite her distress her voice was reasonably composed.
‘You had no right to stop me. You know what the Rodriguez gang did to me.’
‘I’ve heard the stories. That’s why Mayor Maxwell … your father called in a US marshal to bring them to justice.’
‘And yet Javier is now free.’
‘Not for long.’ Kurt offered the kindest smile Shackleton had ever seen him deliver, then turned to him. ‘Two of us should follow Javier. I’d suggest Elwood should escort her back to Bear Creek, or at least to someone who can take care of her.’
‘I can take care of myself,’ the woman murmured sulkily before Shackleton could reply. ‘And besides, if you’re not letting me deal with Javier on my own, you all have to go back to Bear Creek.’
‘Why?’
‘The news
is out about Javier escaping. So my father wants to talk to you.’
‘We can’t waste time talking to him,’ Kurt said, for once speaking for Shackleton too. ‘We’re only minutes behind Javier.’
‘Father was adamant, as is Governor Bradbury.’
‘And who are they to tell me what to do?’ Kurt muttered.
Shackleton couldn’t help but utter a rueful laugh.
‘And who are you, Kurt,’ he said, ‘to question anyone’s commands?’
CHAPTER 9
‘May the groans of the prisoners come before you,’ The Preacher said. ‘By the strength of your arm preserve those condemned to die, Psalm seventy-nine, verse eleven.’
The smith looked at Nathaniel, gulping, and Nathaniel offered him a smile.
‘I reckon he’s asking you to be careful with that hammer,’ he said.
The smith nodded, then raised the hammer high.
The Preacher and Nathaniel had walked for most of the day and had emerged from Devil’s Canyon as the sun had disappeared from view. The small settlement of Wilson’s Crossing was at the mouth of the canyon and had saved them from having to spend a second night outside.
Luckily, the collection of houses included a stables and an adjoining smithy.
The arrival of two shackled men had raised the kind of consternation Nathaniel had expected, and the smith had been all set to slam the door on them and hurry off, presumably to fetch a gun.
Then he’d seen The Preacher and the sight had made him fall to his knees.
The smith was six inches taller than even the rangy preacher was and had arms that were as thick as Nathaniel’s legs, but that didn’t stop him begging them to leave him alone. Nathaniel had promised him they would, but only after he’d separated them; the plea had resulted in the smith dragging the manacled pair to an anvil.
Five solid blows separated the manacles around their ankles and two more dealt with their wrists. Then the smith removed the remaining rings from around The Preacher’s limbs.
The moment the last ring fell, The Preacher stood and paced to the door. The smith watched him walk away murmuring to himself. Only when he’d passed through the door did the smith turn to Nathaniel.
‘Where’s he going? What’s he doing? I have a wife and children. Will—?’
‘I’m sure he just wants to leave here and never return. As do I.’ Nathaniel cast a significant glance at his own remaining bands of iron. The smith hastily removed them.
‘We don’t want no trouble,’ the smith said, backing away as Nathaniel stretched his arms and legs, enjoying the lightness of his limbs and the ease with which he could move them for the first time in a while.
‘Neither do we, and this ain’t what it seems so don’t speak of this to anyone. We just want to leave.’ Nathaniel knew of the difficulty of getting metal so he gestured at the fallen ironwork. ‘Keep that in payment for your help.’
‘Obliged.’
Nathaniel turned to the door, but with the weight gone from his limbs, another insistent urge rippled through his stomach and he turned back.
‘And in return, we wouldn’t mind some food. We haven’t eaten in a while.’
‘And then you’ll take that man away?’
Nathaniel nodded, although he’d hardly finished the gesture before the smith dashed outside.
Within a minute the smith returned, casting wide-eyed, scared looks to the side, presumably at The Preacher, then he thrust a bundle at Nathaniel.
Nathaniel took the bundle and thanked him, then thanked him again when a glance inside revealed that he’d been more than generous with bread, cheese, strips of beef.
When he was outside he turned back to face the scared smith.
‘What has The Preacher done to make you that worried?’ he asked.
The smith gulped. ‘You mean you don’t know and you’re his partner?’
‘I ain’t exactly his—’ Nathaniel didn’t get to complete his comment as the smith then slammed the door. Nathaniel knocked, then pushed open the door. ‘Why are you so worried?’
He didn’t get an answer, but he did get something even more welcome when the smith hurled his boots at him, shouting at him to just get away.
Nathaniel looked at the closed door, wondering if he should take the smith’s fear seriously. He now had food, was free to walk alone and more comfortably than before, and he could set out to track down Turner without being accompanied by his babbling, and presumably dangerous, companion.
But when he turned he found that The Preacher was waiting for him.
He stood beside the river looking away from Devil’s Canyon and the route they’d previously been taking. So, seeing that he had no choice for now, Nathaniel sat down to slip the smith’s boots on, then joined The Preacher.
That night they settled down in a dry wash overlooking Wilson’s Crossing. Nathaniel reckoned he could gather enough dry wood for a fire, but he assumed that a pursuit could be getting closer by now, so he decided not to risk it.
He opened up their food bundle and laid it out, letting The Preacher select what he wanted to eat first.
To his surprise The Preacher reacted to the food in a way that was the nearest to normal behaviour he’d seen. He divided up the bread and cheese into six segments, then allocated the meat strips between each segment.
‘Taking the five loaves and the two fish and looking up to heaven,’ he said as he worked, ‘he gave thanks and broke them, Luke nine, verse sixteen.’
Then he tore the cloth into two and bound up four of those segments into small packages, leaving two.
When he took one of those segments, Nathaniel saw that he’d worked out a sensible amount to eat and had ensured they had food for the next few days.
‘Do you want to bless the food?’ Nathaniel asked as he took his share.
‘A generous man will himself be blessed, for he shares his food with the poor, Proverbs twenty-two, verse nine.’
‘I know. That smith was a generous man.’ Nathaniel laughed. ‘It’s a pity we didn’t ask him for more.’
The Preacher didn’t respond to this and they ate their food in silence.
Later Nathaniel made himself comfortable on the soft earth. With a full belly for the first time in days, he quickly went to sleep.
But it wasn’t a restful sleep.
Despite Nathaniel’s having appeared to have reached some sort of understanding with The Preacher, the smith’s shock at the mere sight of the man had troubled him.
Every time he awoke he looked over towards The Preacher, who had found a position to sleep in that let him sit upright. He was mumbling to himself, either in sleep or while awake.
As the night wore on The Preacher and his constant biblical murmuring invaded Nathaniel’s dreams so vividly that he wasn’t sure whether he was dreaming or awake.
Repeatedly the fear on the smith’s face, along with that of the prisoners, came back to him and echoed in his mind, as did Mitch Cartwright’s taunt about The Preacher eating him.
Later Nathaniel found himself trapped in a nightmare that seemed real, where The Preacher loomed over him, his gaunt face closing in. The Preacher opened his mouth far wider than he should have been able to. A long serpent-like tongue emerged and licked his face, rasping the skin away.
‘It’s a dream,’ Nathaniel shouted, trying to wake himself, but the tongue kept rasping and The Preacher’s face came closer and closer and….
With a scream on his lips, either in his dream or in the waking world, Nathaniel sat upright, shaking himself awake and seeing that dawn had come.
Then a huge face pushed itself towards him, a tongue emerging to lick his face, and he screamed again. He rolled and came to his feet ready to fight back and found with some embarrassment that what he’d taken for The Preacher’s face was in fact a horse’s.
He looked up to see that The Preacher was riding that horse and that he’d brought along a second mount.
Still shaking, Nathaniel stood up and made his way o
ver to the second horse. He saw the loaded saddlebags, and when he looked at The Preacher he saw that he had a gun at his hip.
‘Where did you…?’ Nathaniel trailed off, remembering the comment he’d made last night about how it was a pity they hadn’t asked the generous smith for more.
Nathaniel mounted up and from his higher position he looked towards the river and Wilson’s Crossing.
‘This water,’ The Preacher said, ‘symbolizes baptism that now saves you also, Peter three, verse twenty-one.’
Nathaniel had heard this quote after The Preacher had saved his life, so he took this as a good sign.
But he still murmured a silent prayer that the smith and his family had provided these goods willingly. Then he joined The Preacher in heading off, taking a direction that was broadly eastwards.
‘Where are we going?’ he asked.
‘His own actions were evil and his brother’s were righteous,’ The Preacher said, ‘John three, verse twelve.’
Nathaniel didn’t reckon that that answered his question, but they were heading away from Devil’s Canyon and so in the same direction as he assumed Javier Rodriguez, Turner Jackson and the rest had gone. So that direction was good enough for him, and it felt even better when he explored the saddlebags and found that The Preacher had obtained a gun for him too.
With the gun at his hip, Nathaniel rode tall in the saddle.
‘An eye for an eye,’ he said.
‘A tooth for a tooth,’ The Preacher agreed.
‘Exodus twenty-one, verse twenty-four,’ Nathaniel said, surprising himself with his memory; then he glanced over at The Preacher.
He couldn’t be sure, but he thought he detected a smile.
CHAPTER 10
‘And the worst thing about this is,’ Mayor Maxwell said, as he thought of yet another angle with which to berate Kurt and Shackleton. ‘I have invited the state governor to come to our very town next week to see me deal with Javier Rodriguez. He said that we were a shining beacon of hope for small towns everywhere. What can I tell him now? That he can’t come because our beacon has been ground into the dirt by the two men I trusted the most?’
The Gallows Gang Page 6
