River of Blood Page 12

  Herne looked across the smoke at the kid’s face.

  ‘Much time for what?’ he asked.

  ‘For Becky and me to get to the social.’

  Becky’s hand jumped to her cheek and she immediately felt herself flushing. Herne simply stared, half intent upon what the boy had said, but half-remembering his thoughts earlier that afternoon.

  There wasn’t nothing much new, he guessed, only the same things repeated over and over again.

  ‘What makes you think you’re going?’ Herne finally asked Matt.

  ‘Seems a good idea to me.’

  ‘What about Becky?’

  Matt looked at her still-red face. ‘How about it, Becky? Bet you haven’t had a chance to put on your best dress in a long time. You must have a fine dress somewheres in your things, less’n I’m very much mistaken.’

  Of course, Becky did have such a garment. And she didn’t like to remember when last she wore it. But still, the idea of going into town with Matt and being able to dance a little, maybe - that was good.

  She said carefully, ‘I would like to go, Jed. But why don’t you come along as well. It would be nicer if the three of us went.’

  Herne looked a mite surprised: Matt scowled.

  ‘Why, Becky, you know Herne doesn’t look too much like a dancing man to me. ‘Sides, he wants to sleep out in the fresh air, not go on into town. He said so.’

  Now it was Herne’s turn to look angry and Becky interrupted them quickly.

  ‘Nonsense, Matt. I want Jed to come. Otherwise, I’m not going at all.’

  Herne stood up. He wasn’t liking this at all. What was he doing arguing with this kid as though the two of them were some kind of rivals over Becky? That wasn’t how he was about her at all. He knew it and she knew it — so what was Matt getting so all-fired het up about?

  ‘We’ll all three go into Fort Worth and put up there the night. It just might not be too good an idea to sleep out here in the open. You two youngsters can go off to your social and I’ll get an early night. I’m feeling pretty bushed as it is.’

  ‘Oh, Jed!’

  He looked at the disappointment on Becky’s face.

  ‘All right, tell you what I’ll do. Around nine o’clock, I’ll bring Becky along to the social and hand her over into your care, Matt. Then you can bring her back at the end of the evening.’

  Neither of them had anything to say about that so Herne began raking over the fire with his boot.

  ‘Let’s break camp then and ride on in. We’ve got to find somewhere to stay. And I want to take me a long, warm soak in a bath.’

  Jed Herne rubbed vigorously at his back with the towel, glad that it was clean and-slightly rough. Enjoyed the sensation of feeling warm and clean. Even felt a few years younger. Maybe he should have been the one taking Becky to the dance after all.

  He whistled as he dressed, putting on a new shirt and tying a fresh kerchief around his neck. He was still whistling when he walked out of the bath house and on to the street. The lights of the saloons along the main street were starting to show quite clearly now and from the far end of the street, Herne could hear the fiddler warming up the early comers to the town social.

  It felt as though it was going to be a good night.

  Herne walked along the boardwalk easily, holding himself naturally tall so that most people moved to one side or changed their path when they saw him coming.

  He was still whistling when he saw the two men across the street. They were looking at him carefully. Too carefully for some vague purpose.

  They were looking at him as though they knew who he was.

  And from that distance he could see clearly the open hostility in their eyes. A look which said, we’ve found you and we’re going to leave you here in the street or along some alley, in a hotel room maybe: but we’re sure going to leave you here dead.

  Then Herne’s eyes flashed in front. There was someone who was not about to do as others had done and step aside. A big man, around six and a half feet Herne guessed, and wide with it. Like he could out-wrestle a bear.

  He had planted himself right in the middle of Herne’s path and was standing there with the thumbs of both hands tucked into his gun belt. Waiting to see what Herne would do.

  A swift glance backwards showed that the two men across the street were still watching intently, having shifted their positions so as to cover him from behind.

  Three men out in the open, thought Herne, and how many behind doors, waiting at windows? He knew that his first reaction, of staying out of Fort Worth, had been the right one. In the midst of all the movement in a busy place on a Saturday night, it was far too easy for these men to cut him down. Far too difficult for one person to fight back.

  Herne needed to even out the odds a little.

  And without drawing the fire of the men behind him too soon.

  He walked on towards the big man, being careful to keep his eyes firmly fixed on the large, craggy face and his right hand well clear of his gun. At the last possible moment, he dropped to one knee and came up again fast. With the bayonet held tight in his hand.

  The man might have been huge, but he wasn’t too quick.

  Herne jabbed the bayonet point into his side, just above the waist. His left hand grabbed for the gun at the man’s side, beating the groping, heavy fingers of the weapon’s owner.

  Herne dug the blade in again and told the man to back up. He didn’t take too kindly to the idea.

  ‘I said, back up!’ Herne hissed and this time the bayonet found its way into the man’s flesh.

  People continued to pass around them, some curious and wanting to know what was going on, but mostly content to get safely past, out of the way.

  Herne pushed the man back to the edge of the boardwalk, then round into the alley beside one of the shops. Instantly, the blade moved from side to throat, teasing a dribble of blood from his unshaven neck.

  ‘You got around a minute before your friends catch up on. us,’ said Herne. ‘Are you with Coburn?’

  The man looked down his nose at the long blade which was still drawing blood from his throat. He gulped and failed to answer.

  Herne turned the point of the bayonet a little: enough.

  ‘Yep,’ the large man grunted. ‘Coburn.’

  ‘How many guns?’

  No immediate reply.

  ‘How many?’

  The man tried to push the bayonet away with his hand but only succeeded in damaging both neck and fingers. Herne looked round over his shoulder anxiously. Where the hell were they?

  ‘How many guns?’

  ‘Eight.’

  Then they were there. They had been clever. One at Either end of the alley.

  ‘Okay, Herne. We know it’s you. Back off from Tex and then let that sticker fall. After that we’ll have your gun belt.’

  He had talked too much.

  Herne switched hands on the handle of the blade and as he did so, slashed forwards and down with his left. The right went for his Colt. Tex screamed as the sharp blade opened a wound from his neck down through his chest on to the right side, almost drowning the noise of the shot. At the far end of the alley, a man cried out in pain, then cursed.

  By the time they were starting to shout, Herne’s gun was aiming to the left, to the end of the alley that backed on the street. But there was no target. The man had taken a quick shot and missed.

  He hadn’t hit Herne. He had hit Tex. The giant was kneeling forward, the blood from his knife wound joined now by a slug through the top of his head.

  Herne thought he had to be dead, though in the dimness he could not be sure. There wasn’t time to wait and find out.

  Herne ran down the alley and headed along towards the rooming house by the back way. He had no intention of waiting around to see who came to investigate the shooting.

  It might be the marshal. It might be Coburn’s men. Whoever it was, Herne wasn’t going to be there to trade shots or answer questions.

  As he we
nt in through the back door, he was thinking to himself : that leaves seven, with one wounded.

  Becky jumped up, startled, when Herne burst into the room. She was almost ready to be taken to the social. Her best dress was on and she was combing and brushing her hair to get the desired effect.

  ‘Get changed!’ shouted Herne. ‘You’ve got a minute!’

  ‘But what for? We’re going . . . ’

  Herne interrupted her. ‘The only place we’re going is away. Quickly! Now do it!’

  The fierce tone in his voice gave the girl no alternative. She climbed out of her dress and into the shirt and pants she rode in as fast as she could. Herne waited at the door, looking through the tiny gap he’d left open. Waiting for the first man to come up the stairs looking for them.

  ‘Who is it?’ Becky asked breathlessly.

  ‘Coburn. And a lot of guns. If we let them take us here, there’s no way we can win.’

  ‘What about Matt?’

  ‘What about him? Coburn’s got no quarrel with him.’

  ‘I didn’t mean that. I meant what will he think?’

  Herne looked at her and anger fired his eyes. ‘Girl, I don’t give a damn what he thinks! We’re getting out of here.’

  He threw open the door and covered the floor below with his gun. There was no sign of movement.

  ‘Let’s go!’

  They rode hard through the night, taking the trail to the right which would bring them closer to the Red River, even though it was not their quickest route. But in those conditions and at that speed, they needed the best track they could find. Herne reined in a couple of times, letting Becky carry on. He listened for sounds of pursuit. Once he thought he heard riders.

  Anyway, he thought, why should Coburn bother to give chase through the night? He didn’t need to. He knew who had been on that gambling train as well as Herne himself. Knew, therefore, of Herne’s next potential destinations. Travelling right across country with Becky in order to find Duquesne had been a risk, but it had helped to draw Coburn out into the open. Rather, it had drawn out the First batch of the albino’s men. Coburn himself still remained. With seven fresh guns.

  So they were trekking back eastwards over the plains. He was still stuck with Becky, a Becky who was becoming increasingly difficult to deal with.

  And somewhere, now, there would be Matt Bronson.

  Herne could guess the kid’s violent reaction to Becky’s non-appearance; to discovering that Herne had ridden off with her, leaving no message, no destination.

  By first light, the girl was dropping across the saddle with exhaustion and Herne knew that if she didn’t collapse completely then the horses soon would. So they stopped on the edge of an arroyo and Herne collected some wood for a fire. He didn’t think anyone was following. There had been no sounds of any other horses for a long way.

  If someone did see the smoke . . . well, here was as good a place as any to take them on. A good view of the surrounding countryside, rocks for cover, shelter for the girl and the mounts.’

  Herne almost wished they would ride up at that moment. The only thing that came up was the sun, rising like an orange ball over the flatness of the land, spreading its strange early light. The two of them were conscious for some minutes of the immensity of everything around them and their own smallness. Vulnerability.

  Then Herne took some bacon and the pan from the saddle bags and Becky threw coffee in the metal jug. All the time they prepared their breakfast, neither spoke. Only when their stomachs were feeling easier and their thirsts partly quenched, did Becky speak.

  ‘Will he follow . . . will he? Coburn, I mean.’

  ‘He’ll follow,’ Herne said.

  ‘For how long?’

  ‘Until one of us is dead.’

  ‘What if it’s Coburn who dies?’ Becky asked.

  ‘Then I guess the senator hires someone else.’

  ‘And it begins all over again?’ said Becky incredulously.

  ‘Guess so.’

  There was a silence and then Becky spoke again.

  ‘I thought Coburn was an old friend of yours,’ she said.

  Herne nodded. ‘So he was . . . is, I suppose.’

  ‘Yet you’d kill him?’

  ‘If I had to.’

  ‘And feel nothing?’ the girl persisted.

  ‘Didn’t say that. I’d feel real sorry. Me and Whitey went through some hard, tough times together. But I’d kill him if I had to. Try, anyway.’

  Becky sat round so that she could see Herne’s face clearly.

  ‘What about Matt, Jed?’

  ‘What about him? What you getting worked up about him again for?’

  ‘Would you kill him?’

  ‘If I had to. Just like I said about Whitey.’

  ‘But would you feel sorry at having to do it?’

  Herne stood up and walked down towards the animals.

  ‘You ask too many darn questions,’ he called back over his shoulder. ‘You like to get those things stashed away? Then we can be moving on.’

  Move on they did. Across the north of Texas and on into New Mexico. The going was never easy, but the weather held for the most part, as it had on their journey eastwards. Only once were they caught in a sudden storm and without any cover.

  For the rest, it was a case of ride, rest, ride, camp, ride again. And all the while scanning the horizons for Coburn or Matt Bronson. Or both.

  All the while there was nothing. Until they came to the small settlement of Gallup, close by Albuquerque.

  Which was where Matt was waiting for them. Had been waiting for three days and four nights. Like he’d said, he didn’t believe in travelling slow if it could be avoided.

  So he’d taken a room and sat around, watching the road into town. Coburn wasn’t the only one who knew where Herne was going. Becky had told Matt-they were travelling to Carson City. This meant that, given the route the two had started out on, there was every chance they would travel through Gallup. Especially considering Herne’s wish to steer clear of the larger towns.

  Matt Bronson pulled his chair out of the sun and pushed the brim of his hat down over his eyes. Through the narrow slit of vision that this allowed him he saw the two riders approaching from some distance.

  Soon, he was able to distinguish them as a man and a woman, man and girl, Jed Horne and Becky Yates.

  The saliva dried for a moment in his mouth and the backs of his hands seemed scaly with a mixture of fear and cold.

  But by the time the two were at the edge of the street, these feelings had passed. Matt knew that he could move out of the way if he did it fast. Then he could try to take Herne later, maybe when Becky was not around. But that was not what he wanted. Becky had to see the man who was supposedly protecting her shown up for the has-been that he was.

  And Matt had waited too long. It had to be now . . . certainly, there was no longer the time to change position. If he shifted now, Herne would see him. He wanted a little edge. Enough to unsettle the man.

  Herne and Becky rode down the dirt street slowly. The sun had recently moved over from the centre of the sky and they were warm from riding in its fullness of heat. Both wanted to rest, to drink, to freshen up.

  Herne saw the figure underneath the hat. Looked at it searchingly. Noticed the twin gun belt but there were enough of those around. He leaned over slightly in his saddle to say something to Becky.

  But the first words to be spoken were not his.

  ‘Took you long enough.’

  Herne whirled round, hand covering his gun. He was in time to see the hat pushed up, the body following it up to its full bearing. There was one other thing. In both of Matt’s hands there was a gun.

  Neither Herne nor Becky spoke.

  Bronson edged forward, keeping the man on the horse well covered. Herne was thinking, he can’t fire straight with both of them. Is he going to use just one, in which case I’d be a fool to try anything? Or will he try to use both together? If so . . . the fingers of the
right hand stroked the leather above the Colt’s grip.

  ‘Ease that animal of yours round till it faces me, Herne. I want to be able to see what your· gun hand’s up to.’

  Matt took another pace forward, on to the edge of the boards. As he did so, he slid the left hand gun back into its holster. That decided Herne. For now, he would string along with what the kid wanted.

  For now.

  ‘Matt,’ it was Becky’s voice, high-pitched and trembling slightly. ‘Matt. What are you doing?’

  The boy watched Herne as the man moved his mount round to face the side of the street, watched and answered Becky at the same time.

  ‘I’m going to do what I should have done before. I’m going to show this old man that he’s past his prime.’

  ‘But Jed’s not old,’ the girl protested.

  ‘For a gunslinger he’s over the hill. Boot Hill.’

  All the while Herne said nothing. Watched. Waited. Just as the boy had waited for him to arrive, so Herne was waiting for his break.

  Men were starting to come out on to the street now, a few women too. They stood on either side of the main street, as far as possible out of range of any lead that might start flying about.

  As usual one of the men recognized Herne’s distinctive appearance and relayed the information to his friends in the crowd.

  ‘That’s Herne the Hunter. The kid’ll have to be good to beat him.’

  ‘He don’t look so fast to me.’

  ‘Who? Herne or the youngster?’

  ‘Herne.’

  ‘Huh!’ the first speaker snorted. ‘That’s cause you never seen him make a play for that gun of his.’

  ‘You have I suppose?’ asked someone in disbelief.

  ‘Yep. Saw him once in Dodge. Three men came for him in the saloon one night. Herne shot two dead and wounded the other and they never laid a scratch on him. Not one of them. No, sir.’

  ‘How long ago was that?’

  ‘Guess it might have been ten years.’

  ‘Right,’ said the man triumphantly, ‘that ten years is going to make the difference.’

  While this background conversation, and others like it were going on, neither Matt nor Herne had moved. Each stared the other down, waiting for a false move to be made.