Blood Bond 9

by William W. Johnstone

  Smiley still followed his old habits, working mainly at night, away from the main herds, trying to cover his tracks, even though there really wasn’t any need. With Petty, it was almost like a regular job. Petty had everybody so boogered that they left him—and anybody associated with him—alone. So it was a simple matter for Smiley and his men to go into a range, round up the choice animals, and herd them into the hidden valley until the rustlers had gathered enough to drive the cattle to market.

  Smiley rode leisurely, almost absentmindedly keeping the stolen animals on track. This bunch came from range used by Lester Brown and his son. Those two always made a lot of noise, but they were both as intimidated as everybody else. They might threaten, but they were no real danger.

  Or were they?

  Smiley paused and scratched his black beard as a figure rode toward him. The other hands looked to him for directions. He motioned for them to keep on with their work but to keep a close watch. They continued with the cattle when the rider got close enough for Smiley to recognize old man Brown. The exception was Ash Crawford, whose job was not to look after the cattle but to ensure that Smiley did his job. He looked busy, but rode close enough to hear Smiley’s talk with Brown.

  The outlaw loosened the Colt in his holster and leaned back in the saddle, waiting for the visitor. Brown was, as expected, hopping mad. His eyes seemed to shoot fire through bushy gray eyebrows, and his mouth was set in a firm frown. Some said he had been fairly good with a gun when he was younger, but since the death of his young wife had kept to himself. Smiley figured Brown was too old now to cause serious trouble.

  “Those are my cattle,” Brown said as soon as he was within shouting distance.

  “They were your cattle,” Smiley corrected. The end of the small herd was now passing. “Now they’re mine. And King Petty’s.”

  “Do you have to stand behind that punk kid to protect you? Throwing his name around doesn’t mean a thing to me.”

  “Maybe these were your animals,” Smiley said. He was enjoying himself. It wasn’t often in his life that he clearly had the upper hand. “But there’s been a change in ownership. And as for Petty, last dozen men tried to fight him are pushing daisies. I’d think twice before you do anything stupid.”

  Brown, even in his anger, recognized that he had no resources in this fight. Ash and two of Smiley’s men wee already coming over to join in the talk. Brown knew he was outnumbered and would be killed if he even acted like he would reach for his gun.

  “So you win again,” Brown finally said, slowly. “I’ll leave peaceably, though it pains me no end to see the herd I’ve worked toward for years just walking away from me.”

  “Yeah. Such a sad sight. Is that why you came all the way out here—to kiss your ranch goodbye?”

  “I planned to shoot you, no matter the trouble it might cause me with your boss. Even if it meant my getting killed. I wasn’t going to put up with your crap anymore.

  “You gave up that idea?”

  “Nothing I can do here. I know you think Petty rules this country, but I’m warning you that will change. I swear that I’ll find some way to get my cattle back. And I plan to see you dead, one way or another.”

  “Not a chance, old man. I don’t take kindly to threats, but I’ll overlook it because of your age. If you turn that horse around and get out of here, I’ll let you live a little while longer.”

  “You’re a real bastard, Smiley.”

  “Right. Petty likes that in a man. Now get out of here. If I see you again, I may have to shoot you.”

  Smiley turned his attention back to the cattle as Brown rode away. The outlaw figured he had seen the last of Brown.

  Matt shook his head slowly to clear it. He didn’t want to admit it to himself, but the fight with the bull had left him temporarily drained. He turned toward the direction from where the voice had come.

  “We have some kind of misunderstanding,” Matt said, standing to his full height. “I’m not after your cattle.”

  “No talk. Just stand still. When Pa gets back, we’ll figure what to do with you.”

  Matt breathed slowly, clearing his head. He stretched aching muscles, relaxing his gun arm, loosening his fingers. He had to play for time. The man who had gotten the drop on him hadn’t wanted to kill him very badly, else he would have shot already.

  “Why don’t you come out and let me see you?” Matt said. “I’m obviously no danger as long as your gun is on me.”

  A tall man stepped out from behind some brush. He was blond-headed, as tall as Matt but not as muscular, and held a rifle aimed at Matt’s belly.

  “Don’t try any funny stuff,” he said.

  “Not me,” Matt said. “I would never tell a joke to a hostile audience.”

  The other man looked at him with a puzzled expression.

  “If I were you, I wouldn’t be telling jokes in a situation like this.”

  “Who’s joking? I’m just making conversation. Being friendly. What’s your name, friend? And why the big iron?”

  “You’re an odd one. Not like the others. I’m Derrell Brown, and the reason for the gun is that I don’t like rustlers.”

  “I’ll say it again, friend, this is obviously a case of mistaken identity. My name is Matthew Bodine and I’m not a cattle rustler. Even if I was, I wouldn’t try to steal a bull by riding him away! I’m just here to do a little fishing.”

  “Just interested in fishing? The way you’re wearing that six-gun on your hip?”

  “A man never knows when he’ll be threatened by somebody holding a rifle on him.”

  “You have an answer for everything?”

  “Don’t believe I’ve been fishing instead of rustling? I can prove it. I left my pole by the creek. Take a look.”

  Derrell glanced toward the creek just for an instant, but it was long enough for Matt to make his move. The other man was big, strong, and probably competent. But he apparently lacked the experience and expertise that Matt had accumulated over many years and countless miles of adventures. Matt leaped and hit the ground in a roll, safely underneath the path of any rifle bullet.

  Surprisingly, Derrell didn’t shoot. He did bring the barrel down, trying to use it as a club against Matt, but missed as Matt continued to roll. He came up just inches from where Derrell was standing and drove his shoulder into the other man’s belly.

  Derrell staggered, but didn’t fall. He dropped the rifle, brought both fists together and hit Matt on the back of his neck.

  The blow almost stunned Matt. Normally, he would have shrugged off such a punch, but he was still tired. Derrell raised his fists to try again. Just as his hands came down, Matt purposely fell to the ground. Derrell was thrown offbalance, toppling forward. Matt spun around the other man and stood, lashing out with a solid kick to Derrell’s behind, sending him sprawling to the ground.

  Matt pounced on his opponent, delivering a solid blow to Derrell’s face. Derrell took the blows without flinching, then with a mighty heave sent Matt sailing over him. A trickle of blood was dripping from Derrell’s nose, but it didn’t slow him down. He moved in on Matt with a combination of rights and lefts that Matt had difficulty blocking, pushing him back toward the water’s edge.

  Matt had to admit that the other man was a good fighter. He had a lot of heart and good instincts, but in his inexperience he made too many errors. All Matt had to do was to be patient and wait for the other man to make a mistake.

  Matt finally found the opening he had been looking for at the water’s edge. Derrell dropped his guard for an instant. Matt’s hand whipped out and landed with a loud whump in Derrell’s belly. The blow knocked the breath out of him, which gave Matt the chance to rapidly deliver more blows to the stomach and head.

  Derrell struck out with a wild punch that glanced off Matt’s shoulder. It had little force, but threw Matt off balance. Derrell got him in a bear hug, threw him into the water, then jumped in after him.

  Matt’s fist was just rising out of the water
when the gunshot exploded from the creek bank and the bullet hit the ground a few feet in front of Derrell and Matt.

  The bullet had broken the back of the snake that was now writing closer and closer to the water.

  Another shot was fired. This one nearly separated the snake’s head from its body, sending it flying through the air and landing in the water near Matt’s face.

  Chapter Four

  Sam gently guided the woman and boy down the street toward Ponder’s store. A small crowd remained behind, watching the bodies being carried away. Sam appeared indifferent, but was ready for trouble. Petty and his men entered one of the saloons. Sam knew he had made an enemy, but he didn’t care. He had done what was right, and that was the important thing.

  The woman tried to act strong, but her walk was slightly unsteady, as if she had been drinking. Sam knew that though he had saved her from Petty’s intentions, something terrible had already happened.

  Henry Ponder was near the door when Sam reached the store with the woman and boy. He was holding a shotgun. His hands nervously moved up and down the barrel, but he didn’t stop them from entering. Clarissa was at a stove in the corner, boiling water for tea.

  “Sam Two-Wolves, in my store,” Ponder said. “I’ve heard stories about how fast you and your partner, Matt Bodine, are with your guns. I figured they were exaggerated. I was wrong. You sure made short work of Petty’s men out there.”

  “Petty didn’t draw on me,” Sam noted.

  “He’s mean and sneaky. He’ll bide his time until he’s good and ready. He’ll try to surprise you or shoot you in the back.”

  “Won’t be the first man to try that, and probably won’t be the last,” Sam answered.

  He directed the woman toward a chair near the stove. Clarissa took over from there, talking to her softly as she prepared the tea. Sam walked silently across the floor and pulled up another chair to face the woman. She looked up at him with big eyes, and said sincerely, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome. Now that I’m involved, you want to tell me your story? What have you got to do with King Petty?”

  The woman shuddered. Clarissa handed a cup of tea to Sam and asked, “Would you give this to Lilly?”

  As Sam took the cup, he noted some other scents besides tea in the cup. Apparently Clarissa had added some herbs to calm and heal, much as Sam’s mother had done when he was a child. Sam passed the cup to Lillian.

  “My name’s Lilly Brandom. This is my son, Tommy. Up until this morning, we had nothing to do with Petty. I just barely knew the name. I hardly ever come to town, letting my husband do whatever business needed doing.”

  “So what happened this morning?” Sam questioned.

  “Petty rode up to our homestead and shot my husband—just for the hell of it. And because he said he wanted me.”

  Clarissa gasped at the news. Henry shook his head sadly and asked, “He killed Jack?”

  “We buried him this morning. Me and my son.”

  Sam knew there was nothing he could say that would help lessen the loss. So he said simply, “I’m sorry.”

  “He was a quiet man,” Henry said. “He was a good man, I think. Never got into trouble. To my knowledge, he never even took a drink. He did business with Clarissa and me. We gave him credit, and he always found some way to pay us back.”

  “Did he do . . . anything to you?” Clarissa asked.

  “No. He threatened to come back later. When he felt like it.”

  “Then what are you doing in town, girl? If he’s after you, that’s asking for trouble!”

  “I thought maybe . . . the marshal could do something.”

  Henry laughed without humor. “Holt? He’s about as incompetent as they come. He follows Petty’s orders.”

  “I had to do something,” Lilly said, her lower lip quivering. “I couldn’t just sit around and wait for that . . . monster . . . to come back. I didn’t know what else to do.”

  Clarissa patted the woman on the shoulder. “That’s all right,” Clarissa said. “That’s all right.”

  Tommy was standing near his mother. He had been silent from the time of the shoot-out in the street. He finally spoke up, looking directly at Sam. “You weren’t afraid,” Tommy said. “Everybody else is afraid of Petty. But you’re not afraid. Could you help us? Could you kill the man that murdered my daddy?”

  Sam sensed some of the fire that was burning in the boy. The loss was still too new; he was still in a state of shock. The true anger and hurt would come later. Sam did not want to give a flippant answer, but he also had to be truthful.

  “I don’t work that way,” Sam said. “I don’t kill in cold blood, not even rabid dogs like Petty.”

  “But if you don’t do it, nobody will!” Tommy said.

  Sam felt uncomfortable, but he was the one who had placed himself in the situation.

  “Tell you what. I plan to be in the area for a few days. Maybe I can be of some help. I can at least talk to the marshal for you. I’m making no promises. So don’t get your hopes up.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Two-Wolves.”

  “Call me Sam.” He turned to Ponder. “Henry, how about my supplies?”

  At the counter, the store owner asked softly, “Don’t underestimate Petty. He’ll be gunning for you.”

  “That’s one reason I’ll be sticking around for a while. I’d rather keep an eye on him than have him surprise me down the road.”

  “You seriously thinking about trying to help Lilly?”

  “You and I both know she needs more than the kind of help I could give. She needs friends to see her through this time. She needs somebody to help her work her homestead. She needs time. I might help hand out a little justice, but it won’t bring her husband back.”

  “You’re good, Sam. Maybe the best. But you don’t know King petty. You need somebody to watch your back. Where is your partner, anyway?”

  “Matt is out where I should be. Fishing. And staying out of trouble, I hope.”

  Not much scared Matt Bodine, and certainly not snakes. But there was something unsettling about seeing a snake’s head land just inches from his face. Matt instinctively jumped backward to get away from the snake. Derrell Brown did the same in the opposite direction. The movement made the water ripple and the snake’s head dance up and down.

  Matt and Brown watched the snake’s head in awkward silence, which was suddenly punctuated by a deep belly laugh.

  “You two were so busy fighting each other you almost got your asses bit,” the voice said as it laughed. “Lucky for you I came back when I did.”

  “That wasn’t funny, Pa,” Derrell said.

  An older man stepped into the clearing near the creek, still laughing. He held a rifle in his hands.

  “Oh, I don’t know. You should have seen your faces when that snake’s head landed between you two! It was tolerably fair shooting for an old man, if I do say so myself.”

  Matt’s eyes were hard for long seconds, then softened as he also started to laugh. Soon, Derrell had joined in.

  “Yes, it was decent shooting,” Matt agreed.

  “If you two are through fighting, come on out of the water and let’s talk.” He pointed his gun at Matt. “Don’t forget, I have the gun pointed at your belly. If you were thinking of trying anything, that is.”

  Matt raised his hands in a gesture of peace.

  “All I want to do is a little fishing,” he said, following Derrell out of the water.

  “Then what’s the fighting all about?”

  “I was just minding my own business when one of your damned bulls tried to run me off. I don’t run off too easy, and convinced the old boy to leave me alone. Next thing I know your son is after me. Are you just naturally unfriendly, or what?”

  “I thought he was one of the rustlers, Pa,” Derrell explained.

  “Rustler problems?” Matt said. “That I can understand. My camp’s a little ways down the creek. Let’s get a fire going, boil some coffee, and see if we can’t
start over again.”

  The older man held out his hand. “My name’s Lester Brown. This is my son, Derrell. Some fresh coffee sounds mighty good.”

  “I’m Matt Bodine. Come along and I’ll get you that coffee.”

  Matt led the way, shaking his head in frustration at the bank where he had been fishing, now churned into a muddy mess. The fish he had caught for supper had been lost. Well, it couldn’t be helped now. There was still time to catch some more fish.

  Matt walked to the water’s edge and picked up his pole.

  “This is a good spot,” Brown said. “Or was a good spot. Fish are probably all scared away now. But there’s a better place a little downstream and around the bend. After that coffee, I’ll be glad to show you. It’s the least I could do after the way my son treated you.”

  “On the other hand, you did save us both from being snake-bit.”

  “Water moccasins,” Brown said. “This part of the country is full of them. Sometimes it seems you can’t even walk more than a few feet without stepping on a dozen of them. I’ve been here for years and still can’t get used to it. That’s how the town got its name, you know. Snake Creek. That’s what this place is called, too. Confusing? Not if you’ve been her awhile.”

  Matt was used to making accurate judgments about people. Though he was still irritated at Derrell’s attack on him, Matt found himself liking Brown and his son. Derrell had put up a good fight, and rustler problems did tend to make a person a little quick on the draw. When they reached the camp, Matt finished the coffee, filled the cups, and sat back on the ground near the fire.

  “Now tell me about your rustling problem,” Matt urged.

  Brown sighed and pushed his tattered hat back on his head. “I’ve been ranching in this part of the country for almost twenty years,” he said. “Most of that time was on my own. It was tough, lonely work, but I made a go of it. Then I found Mollie, bless her soul, and we had Derrell. It’s just been him and me for a long time, but we’ve added to the herd. I’ve faced winter storms, droughts, and too many men who tried to take away from me what I’ve built and hoped to pass on to my son. Nothing’s gotten the better of me until King Perry came along.”