by Neil Hunter
‘I wanted you to see who it was killed you,’ Brand said.
Though he was unable to understand the language Three Finger seemed to grasp the meaning behind Brand’s words. A defiant snarl passed his lips and he tried to shove himself up off the ground.
Brand took a few steps back, moved the rifle and began firing. He used all three remaining shots, driving them into Three Finger’s body at close range. The Kwahadi arched back in agony, his ravaged flesh torn and bloody. He fell to the ground, lying in a pool of his own blood, the once great Kwahadi warrior now curled up on the earth that had soaked up the blood of so many of his enemies.
Brand turned away. He took the reins of Three Finger’s pony and started back to where Lisa waited. He stopped when something caught his eye. Something that gleamed in the dust. He reached down and picked up the rifle that Three Finger had dropped. He saw that it was a brand new Henry repeater. There were still traces of grease on the unmarked metal.
Where were the Comanches getting hold of weapons like these?
He knew there were white men who sold guns to the Indians in exchange for gold. Guns that were used to kill people like the Graingers. Like his own family. And Lisa’s family.
He turned and went back to where Three Finger lay. He had remembered the ammunition belt around the Indian’s waist. Brand unbuckled the belt and dragged it free of the body, ignoring the blood that stained his fingers. He spotted the long knife Three Finger wore and took that as well, tucking it under his belt.
Lisa was waiting with the ponies. She didn’t move when she saw him coming. All she did was stand and watch him. It was during those silent moments that Brand took a long look at her and decided that she did look beautiful. He couldn’t miss the startling blue eyes staring at him out of her brown face. The tangled cap of tawny hair. The scant cover of the blanket that exposed so much of her tanned, lithe body. One hip showing, curving down into long, supple legs. It was an image that would stay in his mind for a long time.
‘God, I must look a sight!’ she exclaimed as his solemn stare continued.
Now that sounds like a woman getting back to normal, Brand thought.
He found a buffalo-bladder water skin draped across Three Finger’s pony. The water inside was warm and bore a slightly greasy aftertaste. But they still drank it. In another pouch they found some dried meat. It was like chewing old leather.
Brand decided to ride Three Finger’s pony. He made sure the Henry was fully loaded, then used more of the cartridges to reload the empty rifle he’d shot the Indian with. He passed it to Lisa after she had mounted up.
‘So where do we go from here?’ she asked.
‘We need a town,’ Brand said. ‘And I need some questions answered.’
Chapter Seven
The settlement ahead didn’t even warrant being called a town. It was an unlovely clutter of adobe buildings that had grown up around the waterhole that seemed to be the reason for the place to exist. That and the stage depot. There was little else. During daylight hours the place looked desolate. Darkness did little to change that.
It was early evening when Jason Brand and Lisa Hoyle rode in. They had been on the move for almost three days, and this dismal place was their first contact.
‘You want to eat first?’ Brand asked.
Lisa glanced at him, her face almost a blur in the yellow light thrown from a window. All she did was nod.
Brand dug his hand into the pocket of his filthy shirt and pulled out a couple of gold coins. They were twenty dollar gold pieces. He had found them when he’d been searching through Three Fingers blanket roll. A hide pouch holding an assortment of trinkets, a sorry mixture of rings and brooches, watches, coins. Spoils of war, collected by the Comanche during his raids, and probably used to buy new rifles and ammunition from the white traders.
Brand drew rein outside a building that advertised meals. He slid off the pony and hitched it to the post. He noticed that Lisa hadn’t moved.
‘Something wrong?’
‘There’ll be people in there,’ she said, and Brand saw that she was scared.
‘They won’t bother us,’ he said. ‘I ain’t in a botherin’ mood. Or maybe you ain’t really hungry.’
Lisa joined him. ‘Try me.’
They went inside. It was dimly lit, the air heavy with the odor of hot fat. There were half-dozen tables, three occupied. Brand took Lisa to an empty table in a corner of the room where he could see the door. He leaned his rifle against the wall where he could reach it easily.
Heads turned in their direction. Brand looked them over, listening to their murmuring voices. A low chuckle drifted their way. He glanced at Lisa and saw her face stiffen. His hand reached out and touched hers under the table.
A thin, long-faced Mexican appeared at their table. He eyed them with something close to suspicion until Brand lost patience.
‘There a problem? We dressed wrong or something?’
The Mexican peeled thin lips back from crooked teeth.
‘No.’
Brand flashed one of his gold coins, dropping it on the table. ‘That clear the air?’
‘A man has to be careful, senor,’ the Mexican explained.
‘Well now that you have been let’s have some food. Steak if you got it, with all the trimmings, and some coffee.’
The food when it came was better than they might have expected. The steaks were thick and well cooked. There were fried potatoes and beans in a rich, thick sauce. Even the coffee tasted good.
When the Mexican brought Brand’s change from the gold piece Lisa spoke for the first time.
‘Is there anywhere we can get a bed for the night?’
‘Si, senorita. Across the street. Manolito Perez has rooms to rent.’
As they left Brand began to feel uneasy. He’d been aware of the way three men had eyed Lisa during their meal, and he could smell trouble in the air. The moment they were outside he took Lisa’s arm and pulled her around the corner of the building.
Moments later the trio stepped out onto the boardwalk. They paused on the dusty street, staring around. Brand heard one of them curse. Another spoke.
‘Now where the hell did they get to?’
‘Can’t have gone far.’
‘Shit!’ grumbled the third. ‘I was lookin’ forward to gettin’ my hands on that bitch. Damned if I ain’t got real horny.’
Brand felt Lisa press close. His anger began to fester, burning inside him like a stoked fire. Almost before he realized it he was stepping out of the shadows, coming up behind the three men.
‘Just what is it you’re looking for?’ he asked.
The three turned. They were lean and gaunt-faced. Dressed in clothes that had seen better days. They took one look at the filthy, ragged boy facing them and their confidence bloomed like a desert flower in the wake of a rainstorm.
‘Come on, boy, where is she?’ The one who spoke was grinning widely. ‘We figure to have her so you’d best get her out here. See she’s the best looking female we seen in a coon’s age, an’ seein’ as how you just got her fed . . . well she’ll need to work it off.’
‘Move your ass, kid. Ain’t no good tryin’ to keep her hid,’ said one of the others. ‘She’d be too much for you anyhow.’
The third one made a sniggering sound. ‘Jesus, he’s too green to ever had a hard on. Now get the bitch out here an’ we’ll take her off your hands.’
Brand leaned forward so they could see the rifle he was carrying. He had run out of patience with them.
‘Only one way you’ll get to her. That’s by killing me. Now you’re welcome to try. I took this here Henry off a Kwahadi Comanche — and I had to kill him to do it. So I know how it goes.’
‘Why sure, boy, an’ I was raised by wolves. Now quit playin’ games and trot out that female,’ the lead man of the trio said, menace in his tone now. He stepped forward, raising a hand in Brand’s direction.
The Henry spat a gout of flame, the bullet ripping into the man�
��s left thigh, turning him aside, blood spouting in a dark stream. Even as he fired Brand was moving, stepping around the falling man. He swung the Henry’s butt into the closest body, feeling the meaty contact. Turning on his heel he found himself facing the third man. This one had his gun half-drawn when Brand whacked the barrel of the Henry across the back of his hand. Bone cracked. The man dropped the gun, cursing wildly. Despite his injury he bent to scoop up the weapon. As his head came down Brand slammed his knee into the man’s face. The screaming man went down clutching his bloody face.
‘Now you miserable sons of bitches clear this street before I let loose with this rifle. I see any of you again I’ll finish this for good.’
There was a moment when Brand thought they might take it further. But nothing happened. The three picked themselves up and drifted into the darkness to lick their wounds. Brand watched them go, the tension draining out of him with their disappearance.
He heard a sound. It was Lisa.
‘I thought you were going to kill them,’ she said in a small, scared voice.
‘Maybe I ought to have.’ His voice was taut and edged with bitterness. It seemed as if the whole of his world teetered on the edge of violence. It was how it had been ever since the day of the Comanche raid on his home. Right now he felt he was going to have to walk that path for the rest of his life, and when he looked at the prospect hard enough he found he didn’t really care.
‘Let’s find that room,’ Lisa said, pulling at his arm
They crossed the street and found the place the Mexican had told them about. Behind a dusty counter another Mexican, this time fat and slow, lounged in a chair. He hauled himself to his feet, leaning against the counter, his eyes sleepy as he faced Brand.
‘We need a room.’
The Mexican inspected them. They looked terrible, he thought. They were filthy, their faces bruised and cut. He wondered idly what they had been up to. He also wondered whether they had been party to the shot that had been fired minutes ago. It was as far as his curiosity went.
‘Perhaps I have a room,’ he told the young man. He noticed something in the American’s eyes that frightened him, and he decided not to antagonize him.
Brand laid the Henry on the counter, the muzzle pointing in the general direction of the Mexican.
‘All we need is somewhere to sleep. Some water to wash with, and a place to stable our ponies. How much?’
The Mexican roused himself at the mention of money.
‘Two rooms?’ he asked.
‘No,’ Lisa said. ‘One room.’
‘You heard.’ Brand picked up the Henry. He tossed some coins on the counter. ‘How about the water?’
‘It can be taken care of, senor. There is a small bathhouse at the rear. I will have water heated for you when I have shown you the room.’
It didn’t take him long. The room was at the end of the passage leading off from the entrance. The door opened on a small room that contained a bed, a couple of stools, and a flimsy table. The bare walls had once been white. Now they were streaked and grey. A lamp dangled from the ceiling, it’s glass chimney spotted with dead flies. A shuttered window faced the street.
‘It is not much,’ the fat Mexican said. ‘But then what need have we of anything better in this place?’
Lisa stared around the room. ‘It isn’t that bad. Luxury compared to what I’ve had to put up with recently.’
‘I will send word when the water is heated,’ the Mexican said as he left them.
Brand closed the door. He watched Lisa cross to the bed and sit on the edge. She smiled across at him.
‘A real bed, Jason. With sheets.’ She raised the corner of one. ‘Not the finest but who’s complaining!’
Crossing to the window Brand eased open one of the shutters. He checked the street. It was empty. A dark strip crisscrossed with yellow bands of lamplight.
‘Something wrong?’ Lisa asked.
He turned back into the room. Lisa had stretched herself out on the bed. She lay looking at him, the lamplight drawing a softness around the outline of her face.
‘Nothing wrong,’ he lied, but he knew she had sensed his restlessness.
‘Tell the truth,’ she said. She rolled onto her side. The bronzed flesh of one hip and thigh lay exposed, looking very dark in the subdued light. She spoke the words for him. ‘You can’t wait to get away from here. Can you? You have something to do and you won’t settle until you’ve done it.’
Chapter Eight
A lingering soak in hot soapy water had worked wonders. Brand felt more relaxed than he had for a long time, though he knew the sensation wouldn’t last. Too many memories were fighting for recognition, and sooner or later he would respond to their demands. For now he allowed himself to wallow in the calmness surrounding him. He knew he needed rest. Once he moved on from this place he could very well be heading straight down the trail to Hell.
He had borrowed a razor from the Mexican who owned the place to scrape off the beard that had started to grow. He was shocked when he looked at his reflection. His face had been burned brown by the sun, but even that couldn’t hide the half-healed cuts and bruises. The heavy swelling around his mouth had gone now, leaving a red gash down the left side of his chin; he wondered if it might leave a scar. He didn’t dwell on the thought as he scrubbed a hand through his mane of still-damp dark hair. It was clean, but it needed cutting. He caught sight of his body in the mirror. There didn’t seem to be a spot on it that was unmarked. He checked the wound in his side. It appeared to be healing nicely, though it was still sore to the touch.
The Mexican had managed to rustle up some clothes for Brand and Lisa. They were only Mexican cotton whites, but they were better than nothing. Brand pulled on the thin pants and made his way back to the room where Lisa would be waiting. She’d had the bath first, and Brand had begun to wonder whether she’d fallen asleep and drowned she had been so long. Eventually she had returned to the room, wrapped in a blanket, and had ushered him out so she could get dry.
He eased open the door and went in. Closing the door he stood for a moment, his eyes adjusting to the gloom. Lisa had blown out the lamp, and the only illumination was a faint glow that filtered in through the shutters. He glanced in the direction of the bed, wondering if Lisa was asleep.
‘I hope you’re not bringing that damned thing to bed,’ her voice said out of the shadows.
Brand became conscious of the Henry rifle he was carrying. He’d taken it with him to the bathhouse. Now he felt awkward carrying it around with him. He leaned it against the wall next to the bed.
‘Happen I might need it.’
Her soft laughter reached him from the gloom and set his pulse racing. He could make her out now. She was lying on top of the sheets, her slim form naked. The soft light filtering through the shutters cast a soft sheen over her body and had turned her hair to a gleaming bronze.
‘Hey, hombre, you scared of me or something?’ she asked.
‘Or something,’ he murmured half to himself, reluctant to admit his awkward ignorance of what he was expected to know.
Lisa sat up, her breasts trembling with the sudden movement. She leaned towards him, hands reaching out to touch his scarred and bruised body.
‘Jason?’ Her voice was soft and throaty, and the sound aroused a burning sensation in his loins. ‘Do you want me?’
He tried to speak, but he had lost his voice. All that came out was a dry whisper.
‘Here,’ she said, her slim hands loosening the cord of the cotton pants, pushing them down.
Still he stood there, and she studied him with a frankness that brought a rush of color to his face.
‘Well?’ she inquired
He stumbled to the bed, pushing himself at her, spurred on by the desire that had brought him to an aching hardness that felt about to burst. He felt the delightful softness of her body under him and he thrust himself at her eagerly. His desire made him hasty and he caressed her clumsily, his mouth bruising h
er.
‘Hey, slow down,’ Lisa gasped. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
She took control, guiding him, gentle hands soothing his heated flesh. With soft words and a softer touch she led him slowly, easily. She laid his hands on her own body so that she too could respond to the urgency that demanded relief. Brand felt her trembling flesh beneath him, the straining body, and then she drew him to her, taking him into her. As he entered, his instinctive thrust made her arch her slim hips to meet him, and she sighed with expectant relief. Lisa clasped him to her, encircling him with arms and legs, her own motion matching his frantic, uneven pace. She held him tightly, almost afraid that if she let go it might turn out to be a cruel dream, and she would open her eyes and find she was back in the lodge of Three Finger. The feeling was so strong that for a moment she panicked, her body shuddering, and a low moan forced itself from her lips.
‘Jason.’ She cried out his name without thought, dreading any reply in case it was not him.
‘Yes?’ His response was swift and uncertain, because he didn’t know why she had called out.
His reply was enough to console her and she responded with a passion that took them both over the final edge, plunging them body and soul into the ecstasy of release, and they were afire for an all too brief time before they drifted in the remaining warmth. Content and fulfilled.
They lay together in a silent embrace, the sheets tangled beneath them, damp with sweat. Sleep evaded them at first. For Lisa it was a return to normality. For Jason Brand it was a taste of something he had never known before, and with it came a need to renew. Twice more they came together, bodies locked and limbs entwined as they sought to relieve themselves of the desire that aroused them. And later, when they had exhausted themselves, sleep overcame the desire and they knew nothing until dawn.
Brand held her close, feeling her warmth as she stirred.
