Herne the Hunter 22 Read online

  Herne reached carefully into his back pocket, not wanting to panic the Irishman’s gun. He drew out the pieces of paper bearing Daniel’s initials and opened them out, one over the other. Then he tore them into two and two again and two again. The pieces fluttered down around Cord Daniels’ feet.

  ‘What the hell …?’ he gaped.

  ‘Way I figure it for now,’ said Herne, staring at the gambler hard, ‘they weren’t never gambling debts at all. I reckon you were just pushing for what you could get. I reckon you get greedy an’ thought the old man wouldn’t have the strength to fight back but would just pay to get you off his back. Except that it wouldn’t have got you off his back, because you would have just got greedier still and bled him white.

  ‘You knew he’d hired Connors before and somehow he’d conveniently got himself killed, so you likely didn’t think the old man would try that one again either. Or if he did, there’d be some other convenient accident out on the bay.

  ‘Well, Russell may be old and sick but he still recognizes the stink of scum when it gets up his nostrils and he still doesn’t like being pushed around by cheap trash dressed up in velvet suits and carnations. And neither do I.’

  Herne took a pace forward and Quinlan moved his gun but he didn’t fire.

  ‘You’ve had yourself a nice time working me over, Daniels, you and your boys here and one day I’ll settle with you for that. But right now I’ve had enough of the stink of this place and I’m leavin’ but not before I get back what’s mine.’

  He half turned towards the big man and reached out his hand.

  ‘If the bullets are still in that gun of mine, you can take ’em out before you hand it back, but if you don’t give it to me right now then next time I see you I’m goin’ to ram it up your ass before I pull the trigger.’

  The big man snarled and growled low in his throat. Quinlan laughed and Daniels reached for the bottle.

  The big man took the Colt from his belt and ejected the shells, then handed it back to Herne, who slid it down into his holster with a rueful smile.

  ‘One thing,’ he turned towards Daniels fast, pointing his finger plumb at the center of his face. ‘This business with what you say are Cassie’s gambling debts … it’s over, settled. Don’t try it again. Ever.’

  And, steadily as he could, trying hard to ignore the pain that reverberated through his body each time one of his boots touched the ground, Herne walked calmly out of the room and closed the door behind him.

  Five

  The clerk was leaning back in his chair, head to one side, mouth ajar while a blue-tailed fly buzzed hopefully around it. Coarse snoring sounds spluttered to silence every few moments, then set up again. A long-haired ginger cat sat on the end of the desk, its paws slowly opening and closing on the white paper of the register. Herne went up to the desk and the cat withdrew its claws and looked at him suspiciously, ready to jump away.

  Herne reached behind the sleeping clerk and took his key from the peg.

  The carpet on the stairs was all but worn through at the edge of the tread, scarred by scores of cigar burns that made a bizarre pattern where none had existed before.

  He turned the key but the lock was already free.

  Herne stepped back and cleared his holster. One hand on the handle he thumbed back the hammer of the Colt, the triple click unnaturally loud in the stillness of the corridor. Carefully, he eased the door open and the scent of perfume came out on the air.

  ‘Good day, Mr. Herne.’

  He released the hammer and dropped the gun back into his holster as he went into the room and pushed the door to behind him.

  ‘I suppose it’s no good asking you how you got in here?’

  ‘You could ask.’

  Herne nodded and stepped over to the window, throwing open the lower section.

  ‘You aren’t about to throw me out?’

  ‘Uh-uh. Not yet anyway.’

  She raised an eyebrow and glanced towards the bed. ‘What did you have in mind?’

  ‘Maybe I should ask you that—you’re the one who broke into my room.’

  ‘Hardly broke in.’

  ‘You weren’t invited and I guess you didn’t stop by to change the sheets.’

  ‘Not exactly.’

  ‘Then why are you here, Miss Russell?’

  ‘Since we’re in such intimate surroundings, don’t you think you could make it Veronica, Mr. Herne?’

  ‘Sure. If you’ll throw in with Jed.’

  ‘Jed?’ The eyebrow arched up again. ‘Is that for Jedediah?’

  ‘Sure is. Jedediah Travis.’

  ‘Well, now we know one another …’

  Veronica Russell took a couple of steps towards him. She was back in a white blouse and riding breeches, but her hair was loose about her shoulders. Her oval face was smooth and pale and her green eyes held all of their sheen.

  ‘There was some talk of riding.’

  ‘I remember.’

  ‘I wondered if you’d like to go with me.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Oh, nowhere special. Just out of town. Up into the hills. Except …’ she reached out a hand towards his face and the tips of her fingers grazed the line of blood that had dried darkly alongside the corner of his mouth. ‘… you don’t look very fit for riding right now. What happened?’

  ‘I went to see your friend Daniels.’

  ‘I told you, he’s no friend of mine.’

  ‘Well, whatever he is, I went to see him.’

  ‘On business?’

  ‘On your father’s business.’

  ‘This Connors thing?’

  ‘Not exactly. Daniels’ men got the drop on me and Daniels had some fun slapping me around while I was tied to a chair.’

  ‘That sounds like Daniels,’ Veronica snorted. ‘I’m just surprised he does it to men—I thought women were more his mark.’

  Herne looked at her and held his question back. Instead he said: ‘If you’ll give me five minutes to wash up, I’ll ride with you. It’d do me good to get out of this town for a spell and into some fresh air.’

  ‘Okay. Why don’t I go down and see that your horse is saddled?’

  ‘You mean you didn’t do that already?’

  Veronica smiled at his sarcasm and left the room. Herne had just slipped off his shirt when she came back, her head angled round the door.

  ‘I’ll help if you like. That bump on your head looks as though it could use a little attention.’

  Herne shook his head. ‘It’s okay. I’ll manage. Why don’t you see about the horses?’

  She laughed and looked admiringly at his chest and shoulders before slipping from sight. This time Herne waited until he heard her footsteps fading on the stairs before he got on with what he had to do.

  The hills were green folds that bunched in close upon one another, the grass rich and full and shifting gently in the east wind. Clumps of oak and birch alternated with patches of scrub and low bushes that were knotted close together. Further inland, the shadows of mountain peaks thrust up against the blue of the sky.

  Veronica rode as well as Herne had suspected she would, eager to feel the animal’s speed beneath her, quick to dominate if the horse gave the least sign of having a mind of its own.

  She led them down into a wedge-shaped valley and galloped along through white and blue flowers, coming to a halt beside a stream that ran down from the hills at the far end.

  Herne dropped down beside her and loosened the girth of his horse’s harness.

  She glanced up at him from where she was crouched by the stream, cold, clear water running through her cupped fingers.

  ‘You know he won’t let it go at that, don’t you?’

  ‘Daniels?’

  ‘Who else? Quite apart from all that money you’ve told him he isn’t going to get, you’ve made him look a fool in front of his men, tearing up those notes the way you did. I don’t think he’s the sort of man who can rest easy with that on his mind.’

&n
bsp; Herne nodded: ‘I figured that. That’s why I reckon to stay around a day or so and take whatever he throws at me. I figure that way I’ll be goin’ some way towards earnin’ what your father’s payin’ me.’

  ‘Sure. That and finding out who killed Connors.’

  ‘I thought everyone knew who killed Connors.’

  The eyebrow came up. ‘That’s what everyone thinks.’

  ‘You always talk in riddles?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Okay.’ She stood close against him and there was still enough of her perfume remaining for Herne to be conscious of it despite the wind and the air. ‘Kiss me.’

  ‘Now?’

  Her mouth tasted of peppermint and her lips were warm and rarely still. The fingers that clasped his arms, then his neck, then his hair were cold and wet from the stream.

  The kiss seemed to go on for a long time.

  Finally, she twisted her mouth free and stepped back to arm’s length, still holding his shoulders. Her eyes were shining and she was breathing slightly faster.

  ‘I always wanted to kiss a cowboy,’ she said.

  ‘An’ now you have.’

  ‘Maybe some time I’ll want to do it again.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Your sister says you didn’t come home last night.’

  Veronica pulled her hands away and her face went tight and now her eyes were blazing. ‘One kiss and you can ask questions about what I do?’

  ‘No, I—’

  ‘That may be the way things work out in Texas, or Wyoming, or wherever it is you come from, but here in the city things are different.’

  Herne grinned and gestured around. ‘We ain’t in the city.’

  ‘You know what I mean.’

  ‘Sure do.’

  ‘Don’t poke fun at me!’

  ‘I wouldn’t dare,’ he said, still smiling.

  ‘And don’t listen to what my smart-ass sister says about where I go and what I do.’

  ‘You mean you did go home last night?’

  ‘I mean it’s none of her business and it’s certainly none of yours.’

  Herne nodded. ‘That’s exactly right. I don’t care whose bed you slept in or …’

  She was fast. He might just about have been able to knock away the hand but he didn’t bother; he’d been slapped so many times that day that another one from a good-looking woman wasn’t going to make so much difference.

  The sound cracked out and Herne touched his cheek lightly where the marks of her fingers were clear upon it.

  ‘You and Daniels should get together … you seem to have a lot in common. But then, maybe you already have.’

  This time he caught her wrist and twisted it back so that she cried out, but not too much.

  ‘Uh-uh. Once is okay. Like kissing once is okay. Any more than that there has to be a better reason than just seeing what it feels like.’

  She glared at him, her nostrils dilated with anger. Herne held on for several moments, before letting go and stepping away at the same time.

  ‘You think those really were gambling debts?’

  She stood breathing a little heavily, uncertain at the switch of conversation. ‘No,’ she said finally. ‘I don’t know. They could be, but I don’t think so.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘Cassie doesn’t go to Daniels’ place all that much. Not as—’

  ‘Not as much as you do.’

  ‘Not as much as I do. Gambling’s strong with me, but for Cassie I think it’s something she can take or leave. It’s a little too … too normal for Cassie. Her interests are rather more diverse.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Oh, no. That’s something you’ll have to find out for yourself. She may tell tales on me but that doesn’t mean I’m prepared to do the same thing for her.’

  ‘Not even if it would help her.’

  ‘I sometimes think my little sister is beyond help.’

  ‘Obviously your father doesn’t share your view.’

  ‘My father spends most of his time confined to his wheel chair or his bed. He’s scarcely in a position to judge what Cassie needs or wants. And if he did know, then like most fathers and their daughters, I doubt if he’d care to provide it.’

  ‘You mean he wouldn’t approve?’

  ‘I mean that he’d want to throw her across his knee and give her a good spanking.’

  ‘Maybe he should.’

  ‘Or you should do it for him?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Veronica shook her head. ‘It wouldn’t do any good.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘She’d probably enjoy it.’

  Herne dropped into a crouch and scooped water from the stream, splashing it in his face before drinking. Both of the horses were slaking their thirsts lower down the stream.

  ‘If Daniels isn’t trying to get that money to get back what Cassie’s lost, what is he doing? I mean, d’you think he’s just chancing his arm and trying to get whatever he can out of your father, or do you think …?’

  But Veronica had lost interest in Herne’s questions. She retrieved her horse and climbed into the saddle. Herne shrugged, stood up and joined her.

  ‘I’ll race you to the end of the valley!’

  ‘You’re on!’

  Veronica slapped down at the horse’s flanks with her whip and kicked him with her spurs. She was four or five lengths ahead before Herne was chasing after her. A quarter of a mile on they were neck and neck and she was using the whip consistently, while Herne leaned forward and called to his mount, letting her choose her own pace and enjoy the race along the valley floor.

  They were still too close to separate and going hard when the first shot sang out.

  Veronica wasn’t certain what she’d heard, her attentions too firmly on winning. Herne responded more quickly, pulling on the rein and turning the horse away and into an arc which would curve it round to the spot where the shot had come from. He was galloping low in the saddle when a second shot raked over him and then a third.

  Whoever it was was using a bunch of oaks for shelter and enjoying themselves with a Winchester.

  Herne changed direction again, still heading for the trees.

  A slug whistled close by his head and he dropped down at one side of the saddle, drawing his Colt and snapping off a couple of shots from under the horse’s neck.

  The trees almost upon him, Herne launched himself sideways and rolled quickly, using the momentum of his ride to send him towards cover.

  Another couple of shots crashed out, one of them from a pistol, and the bark to Herne’s right was torn away from the trunk. He saw a flash of movement back between the trees and aimed for it, his bullet ricocheting away towards the slanting rays of light.

  Then there were shouts and the sound of horses—Herne went through the oaks in a zigzag run.

  He broke through at the other side in time to see two riders tearing away towards the next valley, driving their mounts as hard as they could.

  He straightened, breathed out slow, reloaded his Colt and slid it back into its holster. Veronica was coming slowly through the trees towards him.

  ‘Are you all right?’

  ‘Fine.’

  ‘Did you get any of them?’

  Herne shook his head. ‘Uh-uh. An’ it ain’t worth chasin’ after ‘em. Not now.’

  ‘Who were they?’

  He looked at her hard. ‘I thought you might know.’

  ‘Me?’ She rocked backwards as if he’d slapped her, surprise bright in the green of her eyes.

  ‘It was your idea we rode out here, wasn’t it?’

  ‘But that doesn’t mean …’

  ‘No. But someone sure knew where to find us.’

  ‘They could have followed us from town.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Herne shrugged, looking unconvinced.

  Veronica moved off to one side, her face thoughtful. ‘I guess ... if anyone figured out we were going riding together they might … well, I of
ten ride out this way.’

  ‘With anyone in particular?’

  ‘No!’

  The answer was a shade too definite, a touch too fast.

  ‘Ever come out here with Daniels?’

  ‘No!’

  ‘Connors?’

  ‘I …’She inhaled sharply, realizing it was too late to lie. Instead, she turned her back and waited.

  Herne moved close behind her. Even in the midst of the clump of oaks, the wind moving through them, the sun slanting down onto the ground, he could smell the same perfume he had recognized in his room. He caught himself staring at the pale skin at the base of her neck where it showed through the folds of dark hair.

  When she turned towards him, she turned into his arms.

  This time she didn’t taste of peppermint but something slightly sour that Herne knew was fear. He wondered if she had had reason to be afraid of whoever had been staked out in the trees, waiting, or if she were frightened of something else. He wondered if she were frightened of himself—and if she was, why?

  Her breasts, small and firm pressed against him through the shiny white of her blouse.

  ‘Maybe you should tell me?’ he said softly.

  ‘What about?’

  ‘About Connors.’

  Abruptly, she pulled herself away and flashed him a look of disgust. She went to her horse, her body tight and angry, her fingers as they clutched the saddle white and tense. Herne didn’t move, watched her ride back through the trees without turning her head. He waited for some minutes, turning over in his mind what she’d said—thinking about what she hadn’t said at all. Then he turned his attention to the tracks the riders had left in the haste of their flight.

  Six

  San Angelo was a small place north east of San Francisco. Sometime ago there had been a Spanish mission there and now all that remained to show it was a weatherbeaten adobe church and a tower that was crumbling slow but sure towards the dust of the flat, wide street. The fixture that had once held the iron bell was rusted and empty. One wing of the cross that crowned the church had been broken off.

  A pair of gnarled pepper trees stood guard outside the arched entrance.

  Herne rode up slow, the flat brim of his Stetson angled steeply against the afternoon sun.