Billy the Kid (A Herne the Hunter Western Book 13) Read online

  ‘It’s on account of Charlie writin’ to his missus, that’s what.’

  Herne looked at the laughing face of the big, bald man and then beyond him to where Charlie Bowdre was sitting at the end of the bunk house.

  ‘Tell Herne here all about her, Charlie. Tell him all about that lovin’ little wife of yours you left all the way down by the border.’

  Herne pushed the chamber of the Colt back into place. ‘Maybe I ain’t interested, Mason, did you think of that? Maybe none of us are interested. Why don’t you let it be?’

  Charlie Bowdre gave him a quick look of thanks and went back to his letter. But Mason and the others weren’t going to leave it there. It had been four days since Herne had joined on to the payroll and in that time precious little had happened. Riley’s men were playing a careful hand and even a trip into Lincoln had produced nothing by way of incident.

  So the men had played cards and drunk a little and now they were restless and showing it. Billy had spent most of the last days in the house with Dick Brewer but when he appeared his face showed a tension that had to break before very long.

  Herne minded his own business and kept his own counsel. Besides, apart from Charlie and Dick Brewer, none of the other men seemed worth a whole lot of conversation.

  Mike Daniels jumped down from his bunk and moved over beside Charlie Bowdre, sneaking glances at the letter he was writing.

  ‘Hey, Mike, what in hell’s name you doin’ that for. You know you can’t read worth a damn!’ shouted Mason.

  Daniels offered him his fist but all Mason did was to laugh outright. ‘You have trouble enough makin’ your damn mark come pay day.’

  ‘Go fuck yourself, Mason!’

  The bald-headed man’s face changed expression like a cloud moving swiftly over the sun. Herne snapped the last shell into the chamber of the Colt and spun it against the palm of his left hand.

  Tom O’Folliard set down his guitar and watched the big man get up from his bunk.

  ‘You was sayin’, Daniels?’

  Mike Daniels pressed his back against the wall. His pistol was on his bunk, in its holster. He bunched his fists and held them down by his sides; he knew that if Mason came for him, the bigger man could take him apart and there would be nothing he could do to prevent it. Nor could he reckon on any of the others joining in on his side.

  ‘Hey, Mason, I didn’t mean nothin’ by it.’

  ‘Sure slipped out of that big mouth of yours easy, boy. Like a lump of shit out of a pig’s ass.’

  Daniels put up both his hands, palms stretched outwards. ‘Honest, Mason, I didn’t meant it. It was a joke for Christ’s sake.’

  Mason stopped advancing. ‘Some joke.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said Mike Daniels quickly, eager to turn attention away from himself. ‘If I can’t read, what in hell’s name is Charlie writin’ to that wife of his for?’

  Charlie Bowdre gave a little jumping movement of the head, so quick as to pass almost unnoticed. He set the piece of pencil aside and bit harder down on to the stem of his clay pipe,

  Daniels took a couple of steps away from the wall. ‘That’s right, ain’t it, Charlie? That wife of yours can’t read none, Hell, she’s just some greaser anyhow.’

  For a normally slow, quiet man, Charlie Bowdre moved awful fast. He sprang out of the chair, right arm going back into a swing that came forward again before Daniels could throw up his arm to defend himself. The punch struck him on the side of the jaw and he went staggering back into Mason, who caught him in his huge arms and held him fast.

  Charlie took the pipe from his mouth and leaned backwards, setting it down alongside the letter he’d been writing. Daniels thought it was his chance and shrugged away from Mason and kicked out with his boot. Charlie saw the kick coming and ducked away to the side, grabbing down with his left arm and hooking underneath Daniels’s leg. He levered upwards and Mike Daniels crashed on to the floor, his back thumping hard on to the boards.

  Charlie looked down at him for a moment or two, as if he was gazing at a piece of trash. ‘You mention Manuella again an’ I’ll kill you for it.’

  He stepped over Daniels’s arm and went towards the door. Daniels pushed himself up with both hands and sprang for his bunk, right hand reaching for the pistol in his folded gun belt.

  Herne saw what was going to happen and straightened fast.

  ‘Watch out, Charlie!’

  He called the warning as he brought the Colt round to cover Daniels, whose gun was midway clear of leather.

  ‘Don’t do it. Let it lay!’

  Charlie Bowdre turned and looked at Daniels, then back at Herne. He was still looking at Herne when the door to the bunk house opened behind him.

  Billy’s hand was on the butt of his gun and the expression on his face was a mixture of anger and surprise. His eyes flicked from Herne to Charlie to Mike Daniels. Daniels moved his fingers away from his pistol and shuffled along to the bunk end.

  Charlie Bowdre let his head drop, shook it, straightened up and stepped around Billy and outside.

  ‘What the hell’s goin’ on in here?’

  ‘Nothin’ now.’ Herne looked at him and set the Colt down on the mattress.

  Billy stared back at him and waited until Herne looked away. Then he came further into the room, Dick Brewer close behind. Daniels sat on the chair that Charlie had been using and examined the surface of his boots.

  ‘We need some things from town,’ said Brewer. ‘Some of you boys had better ride in. It’ll give you somethin’ better to do than gettin’ all riled at each other. Daniels, you can drive the wagon. Pecos an’ Herne ride along to keep him company. Right?’

  Daniels spoke without looking up. ‘When d’we go?’

  ‘Right now’s as good a time as any.’

  Daniels stood awkwardly, not wanting to look at the Kid nor at Herne. Billy turned on his heels and walked back out into the gray day.

  Pecos had already hitched the horses to the wagon and saddled up a pair of mounts for Herne and himself. Dick Brewer was standing close by the wagon, leaning against the side with one boot heel hooked into the spokes of a rear wheel.

  ‘Murphy’s men seem to be playing it quiet, so there shouldn’t be any trouble. If there is, well, I guess you know what to do to handle it. Only thing …’ He broke off and looked from one man to another, ending on Mike Daniels. ‘… don’t go looking for what ain’t there and don’t go stirrin’ things up. Not right now. You just get into town, get them supplies and light right out again. That understood?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Pecos, straightening the Stetson on his head of curly hair.

  Herne and Daniels nodded.

  ‘That’s fine.’ Brewer stepped away from the wagon and Mike Daniels climbed up into the seat and unwound the reins from around the brake.

  Herne and Pecos mounted up and began to move out. Daniels flicked the whip over the team’s heads. As they went past the corral Mason watched them from the doorway of the bunk house, Dick Brewer from the yard; the slim, black-shirted figure of the Kid leaned against the ranch house door. Charlie Bowdre was back inside working on his letter, tongue pressed against the inside of his mouth as he fumbled for words.

  ~*~

  Lincoln was as gray as the sky that covered it. Scarcely a person paid Herne and the others any attention as they rode towards the center of town where the Chisum store was situated, not far from the Murphy one it had been set up in competition to. Exactly as the Chisum bank faced across the square from the Murphy bank.

  A couple of mongrel dogs yelped and chased one another in front of the wagon and Mike Daniels cursed at them, lashing sideways with the whip. Herne and Pecos kept slightly to the rear, moving slow and keeping their eyes peeled. A man stepped suddenly out of a narrow alley between two buildings and both Herne and Pecos let their hands drift towards their pistols. But the man turned sharply away and hurried off in the opposite direction.

  Pecos glanced over at Herne, easing his hat around on his head, r
elieved that it had come to nothing.

  The windows to Sheriff Brady’s office were shuttered across with planks of wood, the door padlocked. The chair on the sidewalk outside was empty; no horses stood at the hitching rail.

  Daniels hauled in the wagon outside the store and he and Pecos went inside to get what was needed, leaving Herne to mind the horses and keep watch.

  He was sitting astride his mount wishing he could go over to the saloon and get a drink when a young woman came along the street carrying a wicker basket over one arm. She glanced up at Herne, taking in his rough wool shirt and worn leather vest, the greasy Stetson on his head, lank dark hair falling under the brim.

  Herne touched his hand briefly to his hat, nodding. The woman looked quickly away and went to the store window, staring in. She was wearing a brown and white dress in small checks, with edgings of white at the cuffs and at the hem where it swung just short of the ground. Her waist was slim and her hips and behind well-rounded. Light brown, easily waved hair tumbled past her neck and on to her shoulders.

  Pecos came out of the store, two large sacks of flour cradled in his arms. He dumped them down into the rear of the wagon, pausing for a moment to glance at Herne before turning away.

  ‘Everythin’ clear?’

  ‘Sure.’

  The woman had swung her head at the sound of the voices, and now her eyes rested on Herne. They were dark and bright, above a nose that sloped down towards a wide, full mouth. She half-smiled, then gave the skirt of her dress a whirl away, stepping along the sidewalk.

  Herne watched her as she went, wicker basket swaying slightly from her arm.

  ‘Hell, now, she don’t look so dangerous!’

  Pecos stood in the doorway, another load of goods in his arms. He grinned up at Herne and deposited them in the wagon. ‘We’re almost through.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Good?’ Pecos grinned. ‘Thought maybe you was plannin’ on hanging around a while longer,’

  He laughed and walked up to the store, stepping aside as Daniels came out carrying a barrel of molasses. Inside five more minutes they were through and ready to move out.

  ‘You think we could stop for a drink?’ asked Pecos.

  ‘I don’t know ...’ Mike Daniels began.

  Herne shook his head: ‘Best not.’

  ‘Hell, just a few minutes is all it’d take.’

  ‘We been lucky so far, let’s not push it too hard.’

  The other two didn’t argue. Daniels got the pair of horses moving into the street and the riders dropped in behind, keeping their eyes skinned for signs of trouble. They came through town as easily as they’d gone in–no one seemed to notice their presence or, if they did, to care one way or another.

  ‘That was easy,’ Daniels called back over his shoulder when the last building of Lincoln had been left behind and they were on the trail south.

  Pecos called agreement. Herne said nothing, keeping his thoughts to himself. There didn’t seem to be any point in saying it, but he reckoned things had been a lot too easy.

  Five miles out, the trail wound round a low bluff before splitting off into two, one continuing towards the river, the other branching west. The land to the east was higher, occasional outcrops of rock pushing through the sandy soil. It was there that Herne saw the first man. The outline of head and shoulders against the graying sky, just glimpsed for a second but enough to know that his forebodings had been correct.

  Inside a minute he spotted a second, a hundred or so yards further along.

  ‘Don’t do nothin’ about it right now, but we got company.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘On that ridge up to the left.’

  ‘Why don’t we get the hell out of here?’ demanded Mike Daniels, starting to finger the whip.

  ‘They ain’t goin’ to ambush us from up there.’

  ‘How d’you know that?’

  ‘I don’t know. But if they was goin’ to pick us off they wouldn’t have let themselves be seen. Could be two of ’em’s all there is.’

  Both Pecos and Daniels scanned the uneven line of the ridge. Wagon and horses slowly increased pace. Pecos turned in his saddle towards Herne. ‘We don’t know they was Riley’s men.’

  ‘Maybe they weren’t. Only thing …’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘They weren’t ours.’

  A half a mile on the sound of riders made the three men turn their heads. Three men were following them down the trail, taking their time and making no attempt to catch them up.

  Pecos eased his rifle inside its scabbard. ‘What the hell they playin’ at?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Herne. ‘But I guess we’ll find out soon enough.’

  ‘I still reckon we should make a run for it,’ said Daniels from the wagon.

  ‘With that thing loaded the way it is we wouldn’t get above a mile. They could run us down easy.’

  Daniels grumbled a little more but he wasn’t about to take matters into his own hands. Pecos kept glancing over his shoulder while Herne figured out the way they would be going to play it.

  Again, it didn’t take too long before they found out. The trail made a sweep down through a wide valley and where it rose gradually at the far side a party of men were waiting.

  ‘Jesus Christ!’

  ‘Now what do we do?’ Daniels snarled at Herne.

  ‘Nothin’ we can do ’cept keep goin’. Riley hasn’t tried anythin’ for a while. Could be it’s just a show of strength. Lettin’ us know he’s still around.’

  The men behind rode wide, coming alongside the two in front who were Sheriff Brady’s deputies. Pecos recognized them and passed the word to Herne.

  ‘One on the left with the gray hair, that’s Dad Peppin. Along of him, wearin’ that black hat, that’s George Hindman. They’re a couple of mean bastards.’

  Herne flicked the safety thong away from the hammer of his Colt. ‘We’ll see what they want soon enough.’

  Dad Peppin spurred his mount forwards a few yards. He held up his right hand and Daniels brought the wagon to a standstill.

  ‘What’s the idea, Peppin?’ Daniels demanded irritably.

  ‘Take it easy, son. Just remember you’re talking to an officially appointed officer of the law.’

  ‘Law, my ass! You’re paid out of Riley’s pocket an’ everyone knows it.’

  Dad Peppin shifted in the saddle, his right hand moving closer to the pistol at his hip. Behind him, Hindman and the others also got ready for trouble.

  ‘Son,’ said Peppin meanly, ‘you go on that way lettin’ your tongue run away with your brain, you’re goin’ to end up in a mess of trouble.’

  There wasn’t any doubting what he meant.

  ‘Maybe you better say what you want, deputy, while you got the chance.’ Herne moved up alongside the wagon as he spoke.

  ‘Meanin’?’ asked the lawman.

  ‘Billy an’ Dick Brewer and the others are ridin’ out to meet us …’ Herne let his eyes drift past Peppin on to the trail behind. ‘…should be along any minute.’

  ‘He’s lyin’,’ called a bull-necked man at the far left. ‘There ain’t no one ridin’ out here.’

  ‘You’re goin’ to look damn stupid with the Kid’s gun rammed up your ass!’ retorted Pecos.

  The two deputies exchanged doubtful glances.

  ‘What was it you wanted, anyhow, deputy?’ asked Herne,

  Peppin came closer. ‘There’s been a lot of rustlin’ goin’ on around here. Rumor has it Tunstall’s men are involved.’

  ‘You go to hell!’ shouted Daniels.

  Peppin glared hard at him. ‘I ain’t sayin’ that’s necessarily so, I only—’

  ‘You only want an excuse for stoppin’ us an’ pushin’ your weight around,’ said Pecos.

  ‘You think we got a couple of branded steers back in this wagon?’ asked Daniels.

  Peppin waved the bull-necked man forwards. ‘Ed, take a look in there.’

  Pecos shifted his
horse across the man’s path. ‘Like hell you will!’

  ‘It don’t matter, Pecos,’ said Herne quickly. ‘If they want to waste their time searchin’ sacks of flour, let ’em.’

  ‘I’m tellin’ you, all that bastard wants is an excuse,’ replied Pecos.

  ‘Yeah,’ put in Daniels, ‘Like when they murdered Tunstall.’

  Dad Peppin turned his horse through a tight circle. ‘Boy, I warned you that mouth of yours was goin’ to get you into trouble. Now step down off that wagon and keep your hands high.’

  Mike Daniels shook his head slowly. ‘You want me off here, Peppin, you’re goin’ to have to get me off.’

  The deputy’s eyes narrowed. ‘That can be arranged, son, I—’

  He went for his gun and, in the seat of the wagon, Daniels did the same. Herne was quicker than either of them. Dad Peppin’s pistol was less than halfway clear of leather when Herne’s Colt hammer clicked back. Peppin stopped and gulped down air, staring into the barrel of the gun,

  ‘Hold it!’ Herne snapped.

  One of the men behind Peppin made a move for his weapon and Herne shifted the Colt across to cover him.

  ‘What’s it goin’ to be?’ asked Herne, looking at the two deputies. ‘You finished your business with us?’

  Peppin and Hindman exchanged looks again, Peppin finally letting his hand ease away from his holster as he moved his horse back into line with the others. The bull-necked man scowled at Pecos and did the same.

  ‘I guess our business is over for now,’ agreed Peppin.

  ‘That’s fine,’ said Herne. ‘Only think on this. You pull a gun again and there better be good reason. You understand that?’

  Peppin looked at him for a moment then turned his head.

  ‘Back off,’ ordered Herne and Mike Daniels chuckled as they did so. He drove the wagon through, a broad grin on his face.

  ‘Be seein’ you,’ he taunted.

  Herne kept the Colt at the ready as they rode between them, still not certain one of them wouldn’t try a late move. But all there was were looks of hatred and an expression on Dad Peppin’s face that said, I may have been out-bluffed and out-drawn this time around but it won’t happen so easy again.

  ‘I’ll tell you one thing,’ said Pecos when they were clear and some way down the trail. ‘Any time you see that bastard again, make sure you don’t turn your back or he’ll put a bullet in it for sure.’