by Neil Hunter
Lita came with news about Cooper. Unknown to Brand she had been keeping an eye on the man. It was a simple enough task for her. He spent a great deal of his time in Molly’s Place. Knowing the man was still around was good news to Brand. Lita promised to keep him informed.
One evening she came back to the adobe, silent and almost withdrawn. It wasn’t the Lita he knew. She entered the adobe and began to prepare a meal. Normally she would come to him first.
Sensing her mood Brand left her alone. Even when they sat down to eat she remained silent.
‘Rough day?’ he asked. Trying to lighten the mood he added: ‘Hey, you want to buy a lonely feller a drink?’
She glanced across at him, a smile edging her lips. She reached across the small table and took his hand.
‘Sooner or later I will have to tell you.’
‘What?’
‘He has gone?’
Brand tensed. ‘Cooper?’
‘Si!’
‘Damn! When did he go, Lita?’
She shrugged her slim shoulders. ‘This morning sometime,’ she said lamely.
Brand stared at her, his face stiff with anger. ‘And you left me here all day? Why the hell didn’t you tell me?’
‘There was no need.’
‘The hell there wasn’t.’ Brand pushed away from the table and crossed the room. He snatched up his gun belt and began to strap it on. ‘Which way did he go?’
‘I heard he is going over the border. Into Sonora. Beyond the Rio Magdalena to a little fishing village on the Golfo de California.’
She watched him gathering his gear.
‘You cannot go in the dark,’ she said finally.
‘You haven’t left me any choice.’
‘Querida, I do not want you to be hurt any more.’
‘Getting used to it.’
‘Do you know Mexico? Can you find your way across Sonora to a tiny village that has no name? Mexico is not a safe place for an American.’ She touched his arm. ‘Brand, I will go with you.’
‘No!’
‘It is better that I do. I know the way. My home was near the Magdalena and I visited the Gulf often. And I know the language too.’
Brand knew she was speaking sense. He did not know Mexico. He had crossed the border once or twice with his father for brief visits. But he knew little about the interior. And his Spanish was basic. Lita could make the trip that much easier. He didn’t like the idea of involving her in his troubles, but if he wanted to get to his quarry then he was going to have to consider taking her along.
‘Be a long ride,’ he said.
‘Si! But I can get a horse. And who needs a roof? Do I not have you to warm my blanket, Jason Brand?’
Later she produced a bottle of tequila for them to drink. They shared it before they went to bed. That night Lita was more demanding than she had ever been, making love with a fervor that suggested she was making the best of things while they lasted. In a lucid moment before he fell into an exhausted sleep Brand wondered if it was a bad omen.
He woke with a throbbing headache and a numbness in his groin. He felt as if he’d had the worst of the fight from both ends. He sat up. Coffee was bubbling in the pot. Early morning sunlight brightened the interior of the adobe. Glancing round he noticed Lita was not in the hut. He swung his legs off the bed and padded naked across to the window.
Lita was approaching the adobe, leading a tough-looking grey pony. The horse looked like Brand felt.
He turned from the window, searching for his clothes. He was trying to pull on his pants when Lita came through the door. She watched him with bright, mischievous eyes.
‘Last night you were so eager to take them off.’
Brand buckled his belt and reached for his shirt.
‘We all make mistakes,’ he mumbled.
Lita picked up one of his boots and hurled it at him.
‘Pig!’ she said, but there was little force behind her word.
They rode out before the day was fully on them. Lita had picked up the trail within minutes of them leaving Tucson behind.
Brand figured they had almost a week of riding ahead of them, based on the information Lita had given him. It was a long way to go. He wondered what they would find at the end of their trip. Lita’s information had revealed that Cooper, accompanied by his two companions, was to join up with Hatch and Preedy on the coast. Brand had wondered why they were gathering in such a remote place. He would have to be patient.
Time would reveal everything.
Time would provide answers.
And there would also be a time for settling outstanding grievances.
Chapter Twelve
Jason Brand breathed a sigh of relief as he saw Lita come over the low ridge and ride in his direction. He led his horse out of the thick brush and went to meet her.
Well?’
Lita slid off her pony. ‘He is there,’ she told him with great reluctance.
‘This time he doesn’t get a dark alley.’
She watched him check his revolver. ‘Remember he is not alone.’
‘I’m not likely to forget.’ Brand eased into the saddle, looking down at the Mexican girl. ‘Ride with me to the edge of the village and wait.’
He moved off. Beyond the ridge lay a small, semi-deserted village. It was no different to a dozen others they had passed during the last few days. Only this time Del Cooper had decided to break his journey, even though the coast lay no more than two days ride away.
As with the other villages Lita had gone in alone, making discreet inquiries. This time she had returned with the information that was now drawing Brand as bait draws a fish to a hook.
He felt very calm. Almost devoid of sensation. The fact that he was riding in to kill a man had little effect on him.
On the edge of the village he passed the Henry rifle to Lita.
‘If they come near use it,’ he told her.
‘Si.’ Her brown eyes lingered on his face. ‘Go with God, Jason Brand!’
‘I figure he gave up on me a long while back,’ Brand said as he dismounted.
He walked into the village. His boots trailed pale drifts of dust into the still air. He stared ahead of him, along the rutted strip that served as the street. At the far end stood a crumbling little church with a tilted bell tower. Along the length of the street, on either side, were a number of weathered adobe buildings. Midway along was a cantina with a faded sign over the door. Three horses stood heads down at the hitch rail.
Brand moved on. He was aware that it was the hour of the siesta. The time when the Mexicans took to their cool huts to avoid the heat of the day. He figured the natives had it about right.
He eased the big Colt clear of its holster, taking the hammer back. He held his thumb against it as he allowed the weapon to hang at his side. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable. The silence of the village unnerved him. All he could hear was the ragged hiss of the dust lifted by the warm breeze. Occasionally it lifted pockets of dust, swirling it around in the hot air.
The cantina lay to his right, yards ahead. He had just walked by the only building that had a window. It was the local barbershop. As he passed the end of the building a flicker of movement caught his attention. The movement was at the barbershop’s open doorway.
Brand began to turn. He saw with startling clarity the figure of Del Cooper as the man stepped clear of the door. Cooper had a white sheet draped around his broad shoulders and one side of his face was covered in shaving lather. There was a long-barreled revolver in Cooper’s right hand. His eyes were ablaze with rising anger as he finally recognized Brand.
‘By God! I wasn’t certain sure at first . . . ’
He didn’t finish — simply brought the revolver up to the firing position.
Brand lunged forward, dropping to his knees, angling his drawn Colt up at Cooper. The big gun crashed out its heavy sound twice. The shots were very close. Cooper gave a startled scream as the bullets took him chest high. The impact drove hi
m backwards and he stumbled against the barbershop’s window. The glass shattered and Cooper fell back over the sill. Blood was already staining the white sheet draped over his shoulders. He landed hard, on his back. For a moment he blacked out. When he could see again Jason Brand was standing over him. Cooper’s bloody mouth worked silently.
‘I took your advice,’ Brand said. He aimed the Colt and triggered a final shot. Cooper’s head bounced as the bullet tore through it.
Brand turned away and cut across the street, aware that Cooper’s companions would be drawn by the gunfire. He was pretty sure they were in the cantina. He also knew they would be showing themselves soon.
He was halfway across the street when a figure raced out of the cantina holding a cocked gun. The moment he spotted Brand he opened fire.
Twisting his body to one side Brand leveled the Colt, loosing off quick shots that ripped splinters of adobe from a wall. A return shot burned his arm, and Brand let himself fall, rolling as he hit the ground. He could hear bullets whacking into the hard earth around him. Risking a quick pause he shoved up on one elbow and snapped off his last shot. It took the gunman in the throat, tearing it open in a haze of red and drove the man back against the cantina wall.
Regaining his feet Brand reached the cantina door. He had meant to snatch up the gunman’s discarded weapon, but as he reached for it he saw a lean figure coming at him and knew there was no time. He pushed himself forward at the figure, conscious of the sunlight glancing off the twin barrels of a cut down shotgun. His hurtling form slammed into the second gunman, driving him back inside the cantina
They crashed into a table that collapsed under their combined weight, pitching them to the floor. Brand used one hand to keep the shotgun turned away from him, ramming his other fist into the gunman’s face. He felt flesh tear and bone snap. Blood spurted across his hand. The man grunted with the shock of pain, arching his body and managing to throw Brand clear. As he did his finger jerked back against the shotgun’s twin triggers and both barrels discharged into the ceiling. Splintered adobe showered to the floor.
Rolling to his feet Brand turned to face the gunman as he lurched upright. Brand lashed out with a booted foot, catching the man in the groin. He stumbled back, flinging the empty shotgun aside and grabbing for the slim bladed knife he wore on his belt. Swinging about Brand picked up a chair and hurled it at the gunman. It caught him in the face, driving him back against the low bar. Bottles and glasses flew in all directions.
Brand closed in quickly, keeping his eyes on the weaving blade of the knife. It sliced the air, aimed for his stomach, and though Brand twisted aside the tip cut through his shirt and opened a shallow gash over his ribs. Brand threw out both hands and managed to catch the man’s wrist. Pushing his weight against the man Brand forced him against the edge of the bar, bending his spine. A hoarse sound bubbled from the man’s throat and his eyes bulged wildly. There was a sudden arching of his body and then he went totally limp, slipping from Brand’s grasp onto the dirty floor.
Brand clung to the edge of the bar. He felt sick, his body burning with pain. Blood was soaking through his shirt over the knife wound. A shudder coursed through him as he realized how close he’d come to being killed. He raised his eyes and found he was staring into the sweaty face of the Mexican who owned the cantina. The man looked as though he was ready to cry.
‘Tequila?’ The voice that came from Brand’s throat was barely recognizable as his own.
He watched the bartender fetch a bottle and a glass. When the man began to pour Brand reached out and took the bottle from his trembling hand. He put it to his lips and swallowed hard. Tears welled up in his eyes as the fiery liquid burned its way down into his stomach.
‘Senor?’ The bartender stared at him with wondering eyes. He gazed around the silent room, then looked back at Brand. ‘Why?’
Brand drained the bottle and tossed it on the bar. He dug in his pocket and pulled out some gold coins. They rattled as he dropped them on the bar. After a moment of thought he brought out some more and placed them on the bar.
‘Bury them!’ he said. ‘They’re dead. So bury them.’
Lita was leading the horses along the empty street when Brand stepped outside. Blinking against the glare of the sun he watched her pause at the barbershop. She moved on after a few seconds. A tall, thin Mexican stepped out of the barbershop and stared in Brand’s direction.
‘You are hurt,’ Lita said.
Brand didn’t answer. The pain of the knife wound was being overwhelmed by a sickly churning in his stomach. A moment later he turned aside, vomiting in cruel spasms. The effort left him trembling violently, his flesh cold and clammy.
‘Here,’ Lita said, passing him one of the canteens.
He splashed water on his face. Rinsed out his mouth. He felt weak. Drained. Dragging himself into the saddle he waited for Lita to mount. Together they rode back out of the village. As they drew level with the barbershop the owner began to yell at Brand in excited Spanish.
‘Tell him to sell their horses,’ Brand said to Lita. ‘He’ll have enough to pay for his damn window and still make a profit.’
Lita translated. The Mexican considered what she had said and fell silent. He turned and ran off along the street. By the time Brand and Lita reached the outskirts of the village the barber and the bartender were involved in a fierce argument concerning the ownership of the three horses.
Clear of the village they picked up the trail again. Lita left Brand alone, realizing he did not want to talk. He was grateful for the silence. He was trying to gauge his feelings now that he had finally faced one of the men he had been tracking. He felt no satisfaction from the death of Del Cooper. But had he been expecting satisfaction? He wasn’t sure what he should be feeling. The doubt confused and angered him. The more he thought about it the more confused he became. So he tried to ignore the thoughts. Which only made it worse.
His mood continued. Lita failed to draw him out of it, even when she tried to talk to him. Later, when they camped for the night, her attempts at conversation were answered by no more than the odd blunt reply. Lita left him to his thoughts. When they lay down to rest even the warmth of her naked young body failed to interest him and they drifted into sleep without resolving anything.
In the morning Brand woke her with a mug of hot coffee. Lita sat up, brushing her thick hair back from her face and peering at him sleepily.
‘Guess I owe you an apology,’ he said. ‘I was a misery last night.’
Lita took the coffee, smiling. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Well, maybe a little misery.’
Brand gazed at her naked body. ‘Man would have to be a fool to say no to you.’
‘There I would agree.’
Brand couldn’t help grinning.
Lita eased the blanket aside and put down her mug of coffee. She lay back.
‘There is no law that says we cannot do it in the daylight.’
‘You reckon?’
‘Why do we not find out?’
Brand saw no reason to argue. They both found out that she was right. And to make certain they tried a second time, and she was still right.
They were able to smell the sea long before they saw it. The dryness left the air and was replaced by the salty tang of a breeze driven in from the Gulf. Now they began to see white gulls circling and wheeling, emitting shrill cries. During the final day they had been crossing semi-desert, and as they neared the coast they passed among high dunes of fine white sand, formed by the restless winds that came in from the sea. The only vegetation was grass, thick and coarse.
As they neared the Gulf, Brand began to think about what might lie ahead for him. He had a feeling that Hatch and Preedy were going to be a damned sight harder to take than Del Cooper. The thought did not deter him. Nothing ever could change his mind.
The sun was setting when they drew rein on the edge of the dunes. Ahead of them the land sloped down to a wide and empty beach. Beyond that the blue waters of the Gulf sparkle
d in the dying sunlight. White-capped waves broke against the sand. Screaming gulls dipped and soared above the water.
‘The village is about three miles to the west,’ Lita told him. ‘I thought it safer to stop here first.’
‘It’ll be dark soon.’ Brand slid off his horse and walked along the dunes. A stiff breeze was building. ‘Could be a storm coming.’
Lita nodded. ‘I can feel it.’ She pointed out to sea. ‘See how fierce the waves are.’
Turning Brand was able to see the angry swell of the waves. They were topped with foaming white caps. Overhead the sky was beginning to cloud over.
‘There is a place we can shelter in close by,’ Lita said.
They moved along the beach until Lita pointed out the ragged outline of a ruined building.
‘Many years ago it was a mission. Built by the Spanish. Now it is empty.’
The mission’s roof had vanished and the walls were crumbling. Drifting sand had piled up against the base of the adobe walls, grass sprouting in odd places.
‘Will it be all right?’ Lita asked.
‘We won’t be here long enough to complain,’ Brand observed.
They made a cold camp. Brand didn’t want to risk a fire being spotted. As soon as it was fully dark he made ready to move out.
‘I’ll leave you the rifle again. Stay just where you are. No telling who’s liable to be wandering around. Hatch and Preedy are liable to be keeping rough company.’
‘What are you going to do?’
Brand glanced up from checking his handgun. His eyes were cold again, just as they had been before he had left her to walk into the village to face Del Cooper. Lita didn’t need him to answer her question. The expression on his face told her exactly what he intended. That was to search out Hatch and Preedy — and kill them.
As Brand led his horse out into the open he felt the first drops of rain driving in from the Gulf, pushed by the gathering wind.
‘It will be a very bad storm,’ Lita said. ‘Take care.’
‘Yeah.’ Brand climbed into the saddle. ‘Least you’ll be dry in there.’
